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THE  LIBRARY 

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THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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AUTUMN  LEAVES. 


BY 

MRS,  M,  M,  B,  GOODWIN, 


O,  may  the  Autumn  of  life  grow  fair, 
With  duties  done  ;    faith  sealed  by  prayer; 
May  falling  leaves  be  an  emblem  true 
Of  the  Glory-land,  while  we  keep  in  view 
Plans,  purposes,  and  hopes,  that  rise 
Through  all  our  weakness,  to  the  skies. 


ST.  LOUIS : 
CHRISTIAN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 

1880. 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

CHRISTIAN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 
1880. 


These  penciled  Leaflets  are 

DEDICATED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  LOVED  ONES> 

Who,  though  faded  from  Earth  like 

AUTUMN  LEAVES, 

Still  live  in  Memory,  crowned  with  unfading  laurels 

From  the  Evergreen  Tree 
Which  overshadows  the  River  of  Life. 

Drift  down,  brown  leaves,  upon  their  graves, 

And  lovingly  cover  the  sod  ; 
Though  faded  and  dyin^,  ye  breathe  to  my  soul, 

New  faith  in  Heaven  and  God. 


7594O1 


PREFACE. 

THIS  little  volume  will  scarcely  find  its  way  to  any  homes  or 
hearts  save  those  of  friends — friends,  it  may  be,  with  whom  I 
have  held  sweet  Christian  communion,  or  others,  (dear  for  the 
words  of  cheer  they've  spoken,)  into  whose  faces  I  have  never 
looked  ;  yet  the  sympathy  of  these  known  and  unknown  friends 
— faithful  friends,  dwelling  afar  or  near — has  been  a  bond  and 
blessing,  and  with  feelings  warm  and  tender,  I  would  bequeath 
my  "  Autumn  Leaves  '  to  those  that  love  me,  and  to  those  that  I 
love,  trusting  that  my  humble  songs  may  fall,  like  a  low  breathed 
benediction,  upon  hearts  sad  as  my  own,  and  prove  an  inspiration 
to  weary  souls  to  "wait  and  pray"  amid  earth's  tangled  paths: 

"  And  yield  not  up  their  trust, 
For  God,  our  God,  is  good  and  just.  " 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

At  the  Gate,  .13 

Faded  Flowers,  ...  ....  14 

Mamma's  Baby,      .........       15 

Labor  is  Life, 16 

The  Waif, 17 

The  River  Path, 18 

My  Ship, 20 

Our  Treasures,     .........  21 

Morning,          .          .          .         .         .         .         ..         .         .21 

The  Place  of  Prayer,  .  22 

God  is  Our  Refuge,          ...  ...  23 

The  Seasons, 24 

Extracts  From  Living  Oracles,  .....  25 

My  Childhood  Home,  .......       26 

Two  Meetings,     ....  ...  27 

Speak  Living  Words, 27 

Remember, 28 

The  Sparrows, .29 

Baby  is  Dead  and  Mother  is  Weeping,       ....  29 

An  Old,  Old  Story, -      .         .         .3° 

A  Fable, 32 

"As  the  Twig  is  Bent  the  Tree  Inclines,"  33 

Our  Hero,  , 34 

The  Mother's  Lament  After  the  Battle,  •        •        •      37 

Passing  Away,  -37 

Not  There, 38 

May,  39 


viii  CONTEXTS. 

Mj  Castle  in  the  Air,     .                          .....  40 

Believest  Thou? 41 

Winter,            ...        - 42 

The  Year's  Farewell, 43 

The  Christian's  Work, 44 

An  Editor's  Waste  Basket, 46 

The  Choice,             47 

Song  of  Spring,           . 49 

"The  Master  Calleth  for  Thee," 49 

Unanswered  Prayers,            ...                 ...  50 

The  Beautiful  Gate, 51 

My  Vision,            .........  52 

Praise,               ,        ...  54 

Over  the  River,             54 

Destiny, 55 

"At  SpesNon  Fracta," 56 

Labor  While  You  May, 57 

"  Ora  et  Labora," 58 

The  Little  One's  Prayer,             59 

Thanksgiving,          .........  60 

Desolation,           .                  61 

Wandering, .         .62 

Only  a  Step, 63 

Shall  We  Know  Each  Other  In  Heaven  ?      ....  64 

Asleep  At  His  Post, 65 

"Father,  Guide  Me!  " .66 

Flowers  of  Olden  Time, 67 

The  Cry  of  a  Lost  Soul!     .......  69 

After  Death,            .                          69 

The  Past, 70 

The  Unknown, 72 

An  Editor's  Musing,             73 

The  Next  To  Die, *        •         .  75 

Brother  Ben  and  I, 77 


CONTENTS.  ix 

Contentment, •        •        •        •  79 

Night, 8o 

Answer  Your  Own  Prayers, 81 

Our  Lesson, 84 

Christmas  Hymn, 86 

Silent  Conquests, 87 

To  a  Friend  on  Her  Thirty  fir. !i  Cuil.  .1  y,            ...  88 

Morning  Prayer, 9° 

The  Old  and  New  Year, 9° 

God  is  Our  Refuge, 91 

A  Prayer  for  Strength, 92 

Spring,  .         .  .      .         .         •  -      •         •         -.        •         -94 

Doubting  Castle,         . 95 

They  Say, 96 

The  sea, 97 

Love, 98 

The  Dying  Year, 99 

Violets, 99 

The  Rose,             99 

The  Dove  and  the  Cherub,             100 

May  and  I, IO2 

The  Secret,          " 103 

Idol  Worship, 105 

Jesus  of  Nazareth, II2 

Farewell, 114 

The  Death  March, "5 

June,             Il6 

The  Fisherman  Song,              IJ7 

The  Ocean, .118 

Overshadowed,                 ........  120 

The  Land  of  Beauty, l21 

The  Swallows'  Welcome, I22 

December,            .........  123 


x  CONTENTS. 

Restored, 124 

The  Blue  Bird, 126 

Little  Sunbeam, 128 

Only  Tears  to  Give, 128 

Lost  and  Saved, 130 

My  Dream, 131 

Charity, 133 

In  Memory,  .........  133 

The  Outcast,  135 

The  Angels  of  the  Flowers, 137 

A  Legend, 139 

The  City, .        .  140 

Youth  and  Age,      .  142 

Thy  Way, 144 

A  Prayer, 145 

Wishes, 146 

'Tis  Home  Where  the  Heart  Is, 147 

The  Woodland  River, 148 

The  Year's  Diary, 149 

The  Christian  Poetess,  Marie  R.  Butler,  .         .        .  151 

Poor  Farmer  John, 152 

Submission,          .........  154 

God's  Promise, 155 

Does  He  Know, 

Hidden  Life, 

Our  Life  Dream,          .  

A  Home  On  the  Other  Side, 

A  Tribute  of  Love, 

Dead, 

Spirit  Longings, 

The  Woman's  War, 

Palmyra, 

Faith, 168 


CONTENTS.  xl 

Home,          .                 169 

Life's  Lesson,         .........  iyr 

Here  and  Hereafter,             173 

The  Ocean  Dead, 174 

Autumnalis,         .........  176 


AUTUMN  LEAVES. 


AT  THE  GATE. 

Is  THERE  room  in  your  hearts,  for  me,  my  friends? 

And,  is  there  room  in  your  homes? 
Friends  unseen — friends  a-near,  I  would 

Clasp  your  hands  in  my  own! 

Have  you  kept  a  welcome  for  me  my  friends? 

A  place  for  my  "  Autumn  Leaves," 
And  for  the  wayside  buds  and  flowers, 

I  found  among  the  sheaves? 

For  I'm  only  a  toil-worn  gleaner,  friends; 

Stranger  hands  must  reap  the  grain 
Where'er  the  harvest's  sea  of  gold 

Stretches  across  the  plain. 

The  seed  that  I  sowed  in  spring  time,  friends, 

In  summer  withered  away 
Beneath  the  scorching  heat  of  pain, 

Bringing  no  harvest  day. 

I  have  little  to  offer  you,  my  friends; 

Some  poppies  of  scarlet  hue, 
A  spray  of  blue  "  forget-me-not". 

Leaves  from  the  sombre  yew, 

13 


14  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Mayhap,  vou  will  find  with  the  leaves,  my  friends, 

A  sheaflet  of  ripened  grain, 
Gleaned  for  you,  with  trembling  hands, 

Amid  the  falling  rain. 

Mv  hands,  that  a-weary  have  grown,  my  friends, 
My  eyes,  that  with  tears  are  blind, 

Oft  vainly  search  for  scattered  grains, 
The  reapers  failed  to  bind. 

Let  me  clasp  your  hands  in  mv  own,  my  friends, 
Do  not  spurn  my  leaves  and  flowers, 

Gathered  for  you  and  bound  in  love, 
Amid  life's  darksome  hours. 


FADED  FLOWERS. 

I  WANDERED  forth  at  early  dawn 

And  saw  a  violet  blue, 
Sleeping  beneath  its  glossy  leaves, 

Wet  with  the  glistening  dew. 
Its  perfume  filled  the  morning  air 

But  ere  one  little  hour 
Some  careless  foot  upon  it  trod — 

It  lay  a  withered  flower. 

A  sun-kissed  rose,  with  dewy  lips, 
Lent  fragrance  to  the  breeze, 

Sighing,  with  low  and  gentle  breath, 
Among  her  crimson  leaves : 

But  a  wild  storm,  in  sullen  wrath, 
Swept  over  that  sweet  bower, 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  15 

And  on  the  grass  the  fair  rose  lay 
A  broken,  withered  flower. 

From  out  the  depths  of  gleaming  waves, 

A  pure  white  lily  grew, 
And,  wondering,  raised  her  eyes  above — 

While  paler,  still,  she  grew — 
As  ruthless  tides  swept  fiercely  by, 

Nor  stayed  their  maddening  power, 
She  meekly  bowed  her  head  and  died, 

A  crushed  and  broken  flower. 

Life  often  seems  with  fragrance  rife, 

Flowers  blossom  round  our  way, 
But  sorrow's  waves  sweep  o'er  the  soul, 

And  bright  hope  fades  away ; 
We  weary  of  earth's  toil  and  strife, 

And  of  life's  gloomy  hours, 
Where  joys  are  lying  cold  and  dead, 

Like  broken  withered  flowers. 


MAMMA'S  BABY. 

WITH  pattering  feet,  a-down  the  path, 

In  glee  the  baby  ran, 
And  creeping  'neath  the  pasture  bar 

His  "march  of  life,"  began. 
At  last  he  paused  beside  the  bridge 

Which  spanned  the  murmuring  stream, 
And  laughed  in  glee,  watching  the  waves, 

In  the  bright  sunlight  gleam. 


16  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES, 

The  mother  missed  her  prattling  boy, 

Her  heart  with  fear  stood  still; 
She  hastened  down  the  shady  lane, 

And  'round  the  wooded  hill ; 
And  then  along  the  dusty  road 

Her  anxious  way  she  took 
To  where  a  rustic  bridge  was  thrown 

Across  the  meadow  brook. 

She  found  him  there,  her  precious  child, 

His  pockets  running  o'er 
With  tortoise  eggs  and  pebbles  white, 

While  on  the  sandy  shore 
His  ball,  unnoticed  rolled  away, 

As,  grasped  in  one  fat  hand, 
He1  gra¥«iy  held  a  pearl-lined  shell, 

Picked  from  the  glistening  sand. 

Just  then  the  robin's  sweet  refrain 

Came  from  a  swaying  tree ; 
With  sparkling  eyes  the  baby  cried, 

"  The  robin  sings  for  me!" 
The  mother  caught  him  in  her  arms; 

He  wondered  at  her  tears, 
And  whispered,  "  What  makes  mamma  cry?" 

Ah!  childhood  has  no  fears. 


LABOR  IS  LIFE. 

THE  rivulet  sings,  but  works  the  while, 

As  'tis  hastening  to  the  sea, 
And  scarcely  stops  to  kiss  the  flowers 
That  are  blooming  on  the  lea, 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  17 

The  river  with  its  winding  sweep, 

Its  current  brave  and  strong, 
And  ocean,  bearing  merchant  fleets, 

Sing  labor's  ceaseless  sor.g. 

The  tiny  shells  upon  the  beach — 

The  workmen  'neath  the  waves 
Who  build  their  coral  palaces, 

And  find  in  them  their  graves, 
Repeat  great  Nature's  mystic  law : 

"  Labor  alone  is  life  ;" 
And  he  who  wars  'gainst  heaven's  decree 

Must  perish  in  the  strife. 


THE  WAIF. 

ONLY  a  miserable  waif, 
A  wanderer  of  the  street! 

One  of  the  thousand  poor, 
That  everywhere  we  meet. 

Only  an  outcast  child  ; 

So  pass  him  by  in  scorn, 
Nurtured  in  filth  and  want, 

Poverty-bred  and  born. 

Ah !  coldly  turn  away  ; 

Let  him  starve  alone; 
He  comes  to  you  for  bread ! 

Give  from  the  streets  a  stone. 

A  heathen?     Yes,  'tis  true! 
And  there  's  a  story  old, 


IS  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Of  One  who  came  to  bring, 
Such  wanderers  to  the  fold ! 

A  story  strange  as  true, 
Scarcely  remembered  now, 

By  those  who  proudly  cry, 
"I'm  holier  than  thou!  " 

Ye,  in  your  jewels  rare, 

He,  in  his  filth  and  shame — 
"  Not  his  keeper!  "  one  of  old, 
Remember,  said  the  same. 

"Christ's  poor,"  with  souls  to  save, 

Spite  of  your  steeples  tall, 
Tempted  by  hunger — cold — 
What  wonder  such  should  fall ! 

Sermons,  'neath  frescoed  domes, 
Nor  prayer-books  clasped  in  gold, 

Can  gather  straying  lambs 
Into  the  Master's  fold. 

He  bade  us  "  watch  and  pray,'' 
And  bind  our  sheaves  with  care, 

And  prune  the  leafless  tree, 
'Till  fruit  for  God  it  bear. 


THE  RIVER  PATH. 

THERE'S   a  wild,  wild  path    through  a  tangled   wood, 

Close  beside  a  winding  river, 
And  it  follows  its  bendings  in  and  out, 

As  the  waves  roll  on  forever. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  19 

Many  are  treading  tins  'wildering  path, 

Earthly  feet  that  oft  grow  weary, 
As  they  follow  the  river's  winding  curves, 

'Till  the  night  falls  thick  and  dreary. 

There's  many  a  song  by  the  wayside  sung; 

Gay  songs  of  joy  and  of  pleasure  ; 
But  oft'ner  still  'tis  a  funeral  strain, 

With  a  slow  and  solemn  measure. 

On,  on,  sweep  the  waves  with  a  ccasless  moan, 

And  the  wanderers  pause  and  listen, 
For  the  low,  slow  beat  of*  the  falling  oars, 

Where  the  waves  on  the  lee  shore  glisten. 

Death's  icy  hand  holds  the  helm  and  the  oar — 

The  keel  on  the  sand  is  grating — 
And  the  boatman  pale  calls  the  sorrow-worn, 

Who  have  grown  a-weary  waiting. 

Through  the  mist  of  tears  they  can  see  afar, 

A  Star  on  the  head-lands  gleaming; 
Over  tempestuous,  surging  waves, 

Its  radiant  light  is  streaming. 

That  mystic  light  is  our  hope  and  guide, 

As  the  boat  floats  down  the  river, 
'Till  we  anchor  safe  on  the  wond'rous  shore, 

In  the  land  of  the  bright  Forever. 


AUTUMN  LEA  VES. 


MY  SHIP. 

The  sails  were  set;  the  breeze  was  fair; 
T,ike  a  white  sea  bird  on  the  wing, 
My  ship  was  launched;  I  smiling  said, 
Rich  treasures  from  the  East  she'll  bring; 
Ah,  priceless  treasures,  soon,  for  me 
My  ship  will  bring  from  o'er  the  sea. 

Many  a  richly  freighted  boat 

I'd  seen  go  down  beneath  the  main; 
Ships  with  their  bright  flags  waving  free, 
Sail  forth,  never  to  come  again. 

Yet  still  I  dreamed  that  fate,  for  me, 
Would  send  my  barque  across  the  sea. 

A  stormy  sea.  a  stormy  sky, — 

And  all  my  toil  and  hope  were  vain; 
The  sails  were  rent  by  wintry  winds, 
My  ship  was  lost  upon  the  main. 
Others  have  also  wept  to  see, 
Their  boats  go  down  upon  life's  sea! 

Ah,  when  you  launch  your  life-boat,  pray 
That  all  your  hopes  be  true  and  pure; 
Set  your  white  sails  for  Heavenly  coasts, 
The  harbor  safe,  the  rest  secure  ; 
A  light-house  standing  on  the  lee, 
Will  guide  us  o'er  life's  troubled  se^. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES. 


OUR  TREASURES. 

A  VACANT  crib,  up  in  the  chamber, 

A  chair  by  the  parlor  door, 
Tiny  mittens — a  cap  with  tassels, 

And  the  shoes  that  baby  wore. 

A  flower  plucked,  by  hands  now  folded, 

Calmly  o'er  that  silent  breast. 
A  picture  held  with  fond  embracing, 

Ere  he  sank  to  dreamless  rest. 

A  little  grave  down  in  the  meadow — 

Above  it  the  daisies  grow; 
And  mosses  creep  around  the  marble, 

And  violets,  bending  low. 

A  hope  to  meet  when  storms  are  over, 
A  faith  that  no  clouds  can  chill ; 

Ah,  these  are  treasures,  priceless  treasures, 
And  we   bide  the  Father's  will. 


MORNING. 

ARISE!  for  the  angel  of  morning 

Has  painted  the  eastern  sky; 
Night's  shadows  have  fled  to  the  valleys, 

Or  deep  in  the  woodlands  lie. 
The  whip-poor-will  hushes  his  grieving, 

The  voice  of  the  night-hawk  is  still ; 
S>veet  morning,  in  glorified  raiment, 

Walks  over  the  valley  and  hill. 


Aurmm  LEA  FES. 

*  Let  tight  be!"  Heaven's  suence  is  broken! 

Day's  banner  is  swiftly  unfurled, 
And  fne  voices  of  angels  are  chanting; 

"God's  throne  is  the  light  of  the  world." 

--,.--..       ...     . 

FaOs  over  the  waking  earth, 

.'.-  -  :  -      - 

Is  seattj  ^»il«i  of  heavenly  birth. 

A  voice  seems  to  ring  through  the  gloaming: 

"Lo,  I  am  the  light  and  the  waj 
Arise  then,  and ««  work  while  the  day  lasts !" 

llat'sf  ttfjhrwmise  mf  *mly  t»-imy ; 
Then  if  thorns  in  the  path  crowd  the  roses, 

.-.     .        -     --•-..       •       .         - 
We  know  the  dear  Lord,  in  oar  weakness, 

Will  goaid  ns  with  tenderest  care. 


THE  PLACE  OF  PRATER. 

TBS  dmrch  bell  chimes  the  boor  for  prajvr, 

.'-.-.:  .:;-—:-••• 

.'.  •       .      •..-•.-         .       r    -".:.-. 

Wend  many  wining  feet— 
And  willing  soosb,  O  God,  to  Thee, 
To  raise  tine  heart  and  bow  the  knee. 

A_  -  .     ' 

-•-".-  -       

Whose  friends  are  in  the  grave, 

_•_-::       •        .:•.:.:        .     .. 
His  son  had  died  to  saw: 

::-.-,.-...-:  --;-:•: 

DcsoemJ  in  mevcj,  O  my  God:  n 


A  uruMff  LEA  VES. 

A  mother  kneels,  and  prays  'mid  tears: 
"  Be  thou,  O  Lord,  my  shield ; 

My  first-born,  and  nay  only  son, 
Lies  on  the  battle-field." 

Xo  prayer  was  ever  raised  in  vain ; 

God  soothes  all  anguish,  grief  and  pain  1 

A  maiden  kneels  amid  the  throng, 
In  tears — hear  Thou  her  prayer — 

For,  far  away,  her  lover  lies 
With  blood-drops  in  his  hair. 

Ah,  pray  for  strength,  poor  weary  dove, 

All  vain  the  prayer  tor  earthly  lore. 

Another  kneels ;   but  from  her  lips, 

So  pale,  issues  no  word ; 
But  to  the  throne  an  angel  bears 

The  prayer,  on  earth,  unheard ; 
A  lost  lamb  heeds  the  Master's  voice, 
And  angels  'round  the  throne  rejoice. 


GOD  IS  OUR  REFUGE. 

GOD  is  our  refuge,  to  him  we  will  fly, 

When  the  dark  clouds  of  sorrow  are  gathering  nigh ; 

When  tempests  of  anguish  over  us  roll, 

The  love  of  the  Savior  brings  peace  to  the  soul. 

God  is  our  strength,  his  children  he'll  guide, 
Keep  them  free  from  temptation,  from  envy  and  pride ; 
To  the  careless,  the  sinful,  who  stray  from  the  fold, 
His  care  is  unceasing,  his  love  is  untold. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES. 

On  mount  or  in  valley,  O  why  should  we  fear! 
Wherever  we  wander,  he  always  is  near; 
With  garments  of  glory  he  covers  the  land, 
And  blesses  his  children  with  bountiful  hand. 

His  wisdom  unbounded,  his  promises  sure, 
Hi--  mercy  unfathomed,  "through  time  shall  endure." 
Though  the  earth  were  removed — time  no  more  to  be — 
He  's  our  "  City  of  Refuge,"  to  him  we  will  flee. 


THE  SEASONS. 

WINTER,  unwept,  has  died  alone, 

And  Spring  is  seated  upon  Time's  throne? 

Spring,  with  her  rose-buds,  mint  and  thyme, 

Who  came,  flower-wreathed,  from  a  sunny  clime. 

The  distant  trees  wear  a  sunny  hue  ; 

The  far-off  mountains  avail  of  blue; 

The  mists  of  the  river,  like  silver  sheen, 

Hide  meadows  fair,  in  dress  of  green. 

But  Spring,  with  the  many  gone  before, 

Is  nearing  the  same,  mysterious  shore, 

Where  she'll  faint  and  die  by  the  pearly  stream, 

While  Summer  awakes  from  her  long,  long  dream; 

Awakes,  and  in  robes  of  green  and  gold, 

Whispers  of  beauty  and  wealth  untold, 

Found,  where  her  arrows  of  light  shall  gleam, 

On  meadows  fair,  by  the  winding  stream; 

Of  her  waving  fields  of  ripening  grain, 

Her  sun-kissed  grapes,  her  grassy  plain. 

But  she,  too,  faints  in  the  noon-tide  hours, 

And  her  grave  is  made  'mid  scarlet  flowerS| 


A  UTUMX  LEA  VES. 

Strewn  'mid  the  grass  by  Autumn's  hand, 

As  she  lifts  her  scepter  o'er  the  land ; 

Her  golden  scepter  to  which  men  bow, 

As  she  twines  a  wreath  for  Labor's  brow. 

Patient  Labor  had  waited  long 

For  the  victor's  crown,  the  victor's  song; 

But  now,  his  hopes  fruition  see 

In  golden  field  and  bending  tree. 

For  all  there  is  the  Spring  of  life, 

The 'Summer's  heat,  and  anxious  strife — 

For  Autumn's  store  of  golden  grain, 

Mortals  need  never  strive  in  vain — 

For  those  who  labor  and  endure, 

The  fields  are  ripe,  the  harvest  sure. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  LIVING  ORACLES. 

"  GLORY  to  God,"  and  "  Peace  on  earth," 
Proclaimed  the  Savior's  hour  of  birth  ; 

"  God  loved  the  world!"     Ah,  love  divine, 
Nothing  can  fathom,  naught  confine, 
And,  "with  the  heavenly  hosts  above," 
We'll  join  to  sing  His  endless  love. 

"  Glory  to  God,  who  reigns  on  high, 
Ruler  alone  of  earth  and  sky." 
The  stars  that  saw  the  Savior's  birth 
Still  preach  His  peace  to  all  the  earth — 

"  Peace  and  good  will  " — this  peace  may  be 
Ours  through  a  vast  eternity. 


26  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

"  Our  earthly  house,"  by  slow  decay, 
May  fade  and  pass  from  earth  away ; 
But  builded  in  the  heavenly  lands 

"  An  everlasting  mansion  "  stands, 
Where  the  pure  river's  ceaseless  flood 

"  Makes  glad  the  City  of  our  God." 


MY  CHILDHOOD  HOME. 

WHERE  the  mountains  rose  in  distance. 

Was  my  childhood's  happy  home; 
Where  bright  waters  gently  flowing 

Through  the  dewy  meadows  roam. 

'Neath  the  pine  trees'  dusky  shadows, 
Where  the  darkness  soonest  fell, 

Oft  my  evening  song  I  mingled, 
With  the  moaning  whip-poor-will.       • 

The  rose  is  blooming  by  the  pathway, 

The  lilac  by  the  open  door; 
The  vine  is  wreathed  across  the  casement; 

The  sunlight  dances  on  the  floor. 

But  scattered  are  the  household  idols, 
And  memory  can  alone  restore 

The  scenes  I  loved,  the  days  so  fleeting, 
The  friends  that  I  shall  see  no  more. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  27 


TWO  MEETINGS. 

AT  THE  altar  I  saw  a  fair  bride  stand, 
With  the  orange  wreath  in  her  hair; 

Her  eyes  were  blue  as  violet-buds, 
Her  face  like  a  lily  fair. 

By  her  side  was  one  she  had  vowed  to  love, 
And  she  smiled  as  she  gave  her  hand; 

It  was  joy  to  know  she  should  walk  with  him, 
In  the  path  to  the  heavenly  land. 

At  his  low  damp  grave  I  saw  her  stand; 

She  was  changed,  though  not  by  years ; 
The  smile  she  wore  at  the  altar  side 

Death  had  quenched  in  blinding  tears. 


SPEAK  LIVING  WORDS. 

SPEAK  living  words  to  waiting  souls, 
Speak  words  of  hope   and  cheer; 

Lift  up  the  spirit  bowed  with  care, 
Wipe  away  the  mourner's  tear. 

Speak  living  words!  behold  thy  child, 

Listening  with  eager  mind, 
And  every  thought  your  lips  may  speak, 

Will  there  a  lodgment  find. 

Speak  living  words;  a  sinner  fails 

The  path  of  life  to  find- 
Point  to  the  wav  that  upward  leads; 

Speak  words  both  true  and  kind. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Speak  living  words  for  soon  thou'lt  lie 
Pale,  silent,  and  unknown; 

And  living  words  alone  will  tell, 
The  good  that  thou  hast  done. 


REMEMBER. 

WHEN  foes  assail,  and  friends  grow  cold, 

When  clouds  are  in  thy  sky; 
When  Slander  with  her  slimy  folds, 

Goes  slowly  hissing  by, 
Remember,  that  the  darkest  night 

Has  the  most  glorious  dawn, 
Though  tempest  clouds  may  hide  the  sun, 

It  still,  undimmed,  shines  on. 

The  rock,  that  rears  its  rugged  head 

Mid  ocean's  waters  deep, 
Is  all  unmoved  by  surging  waves 

That  circle  at  its  feet. 
The  boat  that  stems  the  storm  at  sea, 

When  tempests  swell  and  roar, 
Will  make  the  harbor  safe  at  last, 

As  waves  roll  toward  the  shore. 

The  good  and  true  need  never  fear, 

Though  malice  aim  her  dart; 
E'en  Envy's  arrows,  tipped  in  gall, 

Can  never  reach  the  heart. 
Falsehood  may  lead  the  mind  astray 

But  it  shall  die  at  length, 
And  Truth  shall  from  the  ashes  rise, 

A  Phoenix  in  its  strength. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  29 

THE  SPARROWS. 

I  HEAR  on  the  hawthorn  a  tangle  of  tune, 

A  low  dainty  carol,  to  welcome  sweet  June  ; 

'Tis  the  song  of  the  sparrows,  so     earless  and  gay, 

Praising  God  with  their  music  through  all  the  bright  day. 

They  flit  through  the  roses,  they  sing  at  the  door, 

They  gather  the  crumbs  scattered  thick  on  the  floor. 

I  wonder,  if  down  through  the  ages  of  time, 
They  still  hear  the  words  of  the  Savior  sublime! 
"  Not  a  sparrow  shall  fall,  save  the  Father  decree," 
He  made  them  and  guards  them  wherever  they  be. 
Surely  this  is  the  reason  they  gather  so  near — 
God  watches  them  ever,  and  why  should  they  fear? 


BABY  IS  DEAD  AND  MOTHER  IS  WEEPING. 

"O,  father,  come  home,  mother  is  weeping 

And  baby  is  white  and  still ; 
The  fire  on  the  hearth  has  smouldered  away, 

The  cottage  is  gloomy  and   chill. 
O,  father,  dear  father,  the  forest  is  dreary, 

The  night  wind  is  swelling  afar, 
The  face  of  the  moon  the  storm-clouds  are  hiding, 

And  the  light  of  each  glittering  star." 

Unheeding  the  voice  of  his  innocent  child, 

And  thrusting  her  rudely  avvav, 
The  drunkard  passed  on  where  the  wine-cup  alluring 

Won  votaries  to  lead  them  astray. 


30  A  UTUMN  J.EA  VES. 

"Baby  is  dead  and  mother  is  weeping," 

Came  borne  on  the  breath  of  the  blast; 
Unmoved  by  her  pleadings  the  wine-cup  he  drained, 
'Till  reeling  he  went  forth  at  last. 

Staggering  and  stumbling,  he  hurried  along, 

Then,  falling,  at  length  failed  to  rise, 
While  the  snow  flakes  seemed  striving  to  cover  his  sin, 

From  the  sight  of  humanity's  eyes. 
Golden-haired  Alice,  watching  and  waiting, 

On  her  bosom  quick  pillowed  his  head; 
From  his  slumber  the  drunkard  awoke  in  the  morning, 

But  golden-haired  Alice  was  dead. 

Dead,  with  a  smile  on  her  white,  marble  face, 

Her  death-bed  the  cold  drifting  snow — 
And  there  by  the  side  of  his  sin-martyred  child 

The  drunkard  recorded  a  vow: 
Henceforth  and  forever  let  drink  be  accursed; 

I'll  ne'er  touch  the  wine-cup  again; 
By  the  death  of  my  children  my  wife's  bitter  tears, 

From  this  hour  I  will  sever  the  chain. 


AN  OLD  OLD   STORY. 

THE  bell  is  solemnly  tolling — 

She  is  dead,  in  her  seventieth  year. 
It  isn't  much  of  a  story, 

Though  may  be  you'd  like  to  hear 
Of  one  who  followed  the  footsteps 

Of  the  Master,  we  adore, 
And  laid  up  in  heavenly  mansions, 

Good  deeds  a  wondrous  store. 


A  UT  UMN  LEA  VES.  31 

They  called  her  Auntie  Prayerful ; 

She  was  ever  a  faithful  friend, 
And  ever  looking  heavenward, 

Waiting  for  life's  end. 
Many  a  tear  of  compassion 

She  shed,  with  those  who  wept, 
And  many  a  wayward  wanderer, 

From  sin  and  shame  she  kept. 

"Married?"    No.  never  married! 

'Tis  said,  in  early  youth, 
Judge  Elton's  son  came  wooing, 

And  she  plighted  him  her  truth; 
But  the  Judge  was  proud  and  worldly, 

And  issued  his  decree — 
'Ralph  should  wed  a  richer  maiden, 

Or  be  sent  away  to  sea!' 

Alas  for  pride  and  anger! 

The  father  wept  in  vain, 
When  the  ship  which  bore  his  child  away 

Never  reached  land  again. 
Lost  at  sea !     Ah  !  what  to  him, 

As  the  years  rolled  slowly  on, 
Was  all  his  wealth  of  gold  or  lands? 

For  them  he  had  lost  his  son ! 

They  say  that  Margaret  fainted, 

Then  rose  up  pale  and  still, 
Wearing  a  look  of  heaven — 

Her  dead  face  wears  it  still. 
How  much  she  prayed  and  suffered, 

No  one  but  God  can  know; 
Fair  as  a  winter  snow-wreath, 

Her  sweet  face  seemed  to  grow. 


32  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Pure,  and  true,  and  faithful, 

That  was  her  record  here, 
Doing  the  Master's  bidding, 

And  bringing  heaven  near, 
A  martyr's  crown  of  glory, 

Has  waited  many  years, 
For  her,  who  lived  for  others, 

And  smiled  through  blinding  tears. 

"Why  do  they  sound  a  solemn  dirge 
When  a  Christian's  life  is  done? 
Fitter  far  were  joy-bells,  when 
Such  victory  has  been  won." 


A  FABLE. 

"  Cluck-cluck,  cluck-cluck,"  said  the  old  gray  hen, 
Marching  along  with  her  chickens  ten, 
And  proud  was  she  as  a  hen  could  be — 
For  each  of  the  ten  wore  a  satin  gown, 
And  plumes  on  their  heads  like  a  princess'  crown, 
And  their  voices  rivaled  the  birds. 

She  was  calling  the  chicks  to  the  meadows  fair, 
Where  fragrance  enwrapped  the  summer  air, 
When,  "Stop,  Mrs.  Hen,"  said  madam,  the  Wren, 
"The  way  your  chicks  dress  is  a  terrible  shame, 
And  the  neighbors  all  think  that  you  are  to  blame, 
Though  I  tell  them  that  never  can  be. 

And  now  I  do  hope  you  will  take  my  advice : 
My  children  wear  brown,  and  are  tidy  and  nice, 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  33 

And,  "Dear  Mrs.  Hen,1'  said  madam,  the  Wren, 
With  your  we:l  balanced  mind,  you  can't  fail  to  perceive, 
That  the  hearts  of  your  friends  with  sorrow  must  grieve, 
Gav  dress  on  your  children  to  see!  " 

While  yet  she  was  talking  a  faint  cry  was  heard, 
And  the  white  cat  ran  off  with  a  little  brown  bird: 
"That's  yours,  Madam  Wren,"  said  the  sober  gray  hen; 
Watching. other  folk's  children  your  own  you  forget, 
And  must  weep  o'er  vour  folly  with  pain  and  regret, 
When  sighing  and  tears  are  in  vain. 

"Your  child,  though  as  soberly  dressed,  as  you  say, 

By  that  villain,  the  Cat,  has  been  stolen  away; 

So  you  see,  Madam  Wren,  '  said  the  old  mother  hen, 
"Neither  dress,  nor  condition,  our  children  can  shield 

From  temptations  and  snares  which  the  crafty  can  wield, 

And  to  guard  them  our  duty  must  be." 

"And  now,  mv  dear  madam,  I  pray  you  give  heed 
To  advice  that  I'll  give  you  in  this  time  of  need, 
'Tis  this,  Madam  Wren,"  cluc-ked  the  old  mother  hen, 

"  To  mind  our  OI.VH  business,  is  the  best  thing  in  life, 
'Twill  save  our  dear  children  and  keep  us  from  strife, 
And  shield  us  from  sorrow  and  pain." 


"AS  THE  TWIG  IS  BSNT  THE  TREE  INCLINES." 

FARMER,  anVe  !   the  day's  at  hand, 
Plant  the  seed  and  till  the  land: 
Prune  the  vine,  'twill  bud  and  blow, 
And  as  you  train  it,  so  'twill  grow. 


34  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Yonder  bent  and  gnarled  tree 
Begs  a  helping  hand  from  thee ; 
Prune  the  branches  drooping  low, 
As  you  train  them  so  they'll  grow. 

Maiden,  see  yon  beauteous  flower, 

Bent  and  bruised  by  the  storm-king's  power, 

Raise  it  up  from  the  dust  below, 

As  you  train  it  so  'twill  grow. 

Mother,  a  blossom  far  more  fair, 
Is  given  to  thy  watchful  care ; 
Guard  well  thy  treasure  here  below, 
As  you  train  it  so  'twill  grow. 


OUR  HERO. 

Harry,  our  pet  and  darling, 

Was  six  years  old  and  a  day — 
He'd  always  pretend  to  be  working 

At  man's  work  even  in  play; 
Sometimes  he  was  Preacher  or  Doctor, 

Or  Lawyer,  or  "  Lord  of  the  quill;  " 
Then  tiring  of  these,  was  a  hunter, 

And  kitty  a  bear,  to  kill. 

"  Harry  will  be  an  artist," 
He  whispered  it  o'er  and  o'er 

That  day,  sitting  beside  me 
At  play,  on  the  kitchen  floor. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  55 

So,  when  he  called  from  the  door-way, 

"  Hurry,  mamma,  and  see 
How  I'll  take  my  kitty's  photo," 
I  smiled  at  his  winsome  glee. 

Down  through  the  clover  blossoms, 

Down  through  the  fragrant  hay, 
Where  the  stately  maple's  shadow 

Asleep  in  the  sunshine  lay; 
At  length  I  followed  his  footsteps, 

Just  stopping  to  pluck  a  flower, 
And  question  old  robin  red-breast, 

Foretelling  a  coming  shower. 

I  paused  when  I  reached  the  orchard, 

Paused  in  blank  dismay, 
For  tied  to  the  trunk  of  a  russet, 

Kitty  mewed  piteously. 
And  there,  on  the  stump  before  him, 

Harry  'd  placed  his  father's  gun, 
And  its  silver  hammer  and  mountings 

Flashed  in  the  summer  sun. 

Spell-bound  I  stood  for  a  moment 

And  heard  the  child  repeat: 
"  Harry  's  an  artist,  kitty  " — 

His  voice  was  wondrous  sweet — 
"  Kitty,  hold  still  a  moment! 

Kitty,  hold  still  I  say! 
Till  I  fix  this  blanket  nicely, 

And  I'll  take  you  right  away." 

"Wait,  Harry!  "  I  cried,  "one  moment" — 
Too  late,  a  loud  report, 

c 


36  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Finished  forever  the  "suhject" 
Of  Harry's  innocent  sport. 

Poor  kitty,  he  took  her  "  picture," 
Took  it  in  blood  that  day, 

And  it  cured  him  of  being  an  artist, 
Even  in  childish  play. 

We  made  her  a  grave  in  the  orchard, 

And  kitty  was  laid  to  rest; 
Red  clover  blossomed  round  her, 

White  clover  covered  her  breast. 
Harrv  grew  up  to  manhood — 

Manhood  sturdy  and  strong — 
Loving  the  pure  and  the  holy, 

Hating  oppression  and  wrong. 

He  was  first  to  respond  to  the  war-cry, 

First  to  put  on  the  blue, 
First  to  die  for  his  country, 

With  a  love  both  tender  and  true; 
The  gun  he  had  used  as  an  artist, 

He  carried  until  he  fell ; 
It  is  all  we  have  of  our  hero, 

Our  hero  who  sleepeth  well. 

They  buried  him  under  the  roses 

That  blush  in  the  summer  sun, 
Upon  the  dark-stained  battle-fields, 

Where  our  victories  were  won. 
A  hero  the  world  will  call  him, 

And  the  Nation  a  tribute  pay — 
But  to  me  he  is  "Little  Harry," 

Six  year-  old  anJ  a  day. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  37 


THE  MOTHER'S  LAMENT  AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 

THERE  was  only  one  killed,  but  that  was  my  son, 
My  last  on  earth,  in  heaven  I  have  four — 

What  then  shall  I  live  tor,  when  child  I  have  none? 
Laid  in  the  cold  grave,  I  can  see  him  no  more. 

I  taught  him  his  dutv — I  taught  him  to  pray; 

I  gave  him  to  God,  to  honor  and  right; 
His  life,  in  the  beauty  of  youth's  early  day, 

Has  faded  away  in  the  gloom  of  death's  night. 

The  sword  of  his  father  I  placed  by  his  side, 
And  I  bade  him  return  it  as  pure  and  as  bright 

As  when  he  received  it,  in  joy  and  in  pride, 

To  battle  for  home,  and  for  God,  and  for  right. 

There  was  onlv  one  killed!  how  did  I  live  on 
When  they  told  me  that  one  was  my  boy? 

A  mother?  and  childless?  'mid  dead  hopes,  undone, 
Live  on!  when  life  has  no  dreamings  of  joy? 

War's  banners  are  furled,  and  the  cannon  is  hushed, 
O'er  crimson-stained  fields  Peace  folds  her  wings, 

No  longer  of  armies  with  victory  flushed,, 
But  a  funeral  song  I  must  sing. 


PASSING  AWAY. 

LIKE  a  dream  our  life  is  passing, 

Like  a  dream  that  is  almost  through; 

Like  a  flower- enblossomed  landscape 
That  the  dark  nicrht  hides  from  view. 


38  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Like  thy  waves,  O,  winding  river, 
Murmuring  softly,  as  they  glide, 

Love's  sweet  song  to  the  white  lily, 
Sleeping  on  thy  silvery  tide. 

Like  a  ship  upon  the  ocean, 
With  its  white  sails  all  unfurled, 

We  are  nearing,  ever  nearing, 
The  shore  ot  the  unseen  world. 

Like  a  cloud  at  hush  of  evening, 
Slowly  fading  with  the  day, 

We  near  the  gate  where  Death  is  watching, 
In  the  evening  cold  and  gray. 

Like  the  sound  of  evening  vespers, 
Like  the  hymn  at  close  of  day, 

Like  the  dew  from  morning  flowers,        .. 
So  from  earth  we  pass  away. 


NOT  THERE. 

MY  HOME  was  very  beautiful, 

Beneath  the  shadowy  trees, 
Where  leaves  were  gently  lifted 

By  every  passing  breeze. 
But  a  cold,  dark  presence  entered 

The  home  that  was  so  fair, 
And  stern  Death  coldly  whispered, 

"Thy  mother  is  not  there." 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  39 

Upon  the  swaying  branches 

The  robin  built  its  nest, 
And  hushed,  with  low  and  tender  notes, 

Its  young  to  peaceful  rest. 
My  mother's  song,  as  sweet  and  clear, 

Oft  filled  the  evening  air, 
The  birds  still  sing  around  my  home, 

But  my  mother  is  not  there. 

The  lilies  bloom  beside  the  door, 

And  the  climbing  vines  still  cling1 
To  the  gray  and  time-worn  lattice, 

Rich  with  the  buds  of  spring; 
My  mother  trimmed  those  creeping  vines, 

Watching  each  bud  with  care, 
They  bloom  in  wild  luxuriance  still, 

But  my  mother  is  not  there. 


MAY. 

MAY  magically  weaves  a  bright  curtain  of  green, 

With  flower-buds  and  blossoms  imprisoned  between; 

The  blush  of  the  roses  steals  over  her  face, 

And  she  bends  like  the  lily  in  beauty  and  grace; 

Her  violet-eyes  shine  truthful  and  clear, 

And  the  breath  of  her  song  is  the  spirit  of  prayer. 


4o  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 


MY  CASTLE  IN  THE   AIR. 

IN  days  long  past,  when  life  was  new, 
And  Hope  her  mantle  o'er  me  threw, 
I  built  a  castle,  grand  and  fair, 
A  wondrous  castle  in  the  air. 

There  were  smooth  green  lawns  and  woody  dell, 
And  fountains  where  bright  waters  fell, 
And  flowers  whose  rich  perfume  arose, 
Like  incense,  at  the  twilight's  close. 

The  waves  of  ocean  washed  the  strand, 
Pale  moonbeams  fell  on  silvery  sand, 
The  cooing  dove  sought  the  shady  bowers, 
And  wild  bees  hummed  in  the  heart's  flowers. 

The  winding  stairs  were  of  marble  white, 
And  glistened  fair  in  the  lambent  light, 
The  windows  were  shaded  with  fairest  lace, 
And  mirrors  reflected  no  care-worn  face. 

The  walls  were  hung  with  pictures  rare, 
And  grace  and  beauty  alone  were  there — 
Music  sent  forth  its  soothing  power, 
And  gladness  filled  each  passing  hour. 

Troops  of  children,  fair  and  gay, 
Made  sweet  the  hours  of  cloudless  day, 
Watching  the  blue-bird  build  her  nest, 
Or  the  tinv  wren  with  speckled  vest; 

Chasing  the  butterflies,  gold  and  green, 
Brilliant  and  clear  as  rainbow-sheen, 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  41 

Singing  anon,  such  a  wondrous  strain, 

That  the  mocking-bird  echoed  it  back  again. 

In  such  a  castle  we  all  may  dwell, 

If  this  lesson  we  practice  well: 

"  Of  the  morrow  to  borrow  no  anxious  care!  " 

Make  the  present  joy  your  castle  in  air. 


BELIEVEST  THOU  ? 

BELIEVEST  thou?  Lord  I  believe 

That  at  the  temple's  gate 
Thou'lt  surely  meet  the  trusting  souls, 

Who  on  thy  service  wait. 

Believest  thou?  Lord  I  believe 

In  emblematic  grave 
Thou'lt  meet  the  soul  that  trusts  in  Thee, 

To  guard  and  bless  and  save. 

Believest  thou?  Lord  I  believe 

That  when  we  humbly  pray 
Thou'lt  keep  us  safely  in  thy  care, 

Along  life's  thorny  way. 

Believest  thou?  Lord  I  believe 

When  darkness  draweth  nigh 
Thou'lt  hold  us  in  thy  loving  arms, 

'Till  storms  and  clouds  pass  by. 

Believest  thou?  Lord  I  believe 

That  we  must  all  become 
As  little  children,  if  we  hope 

To  reach  the  heavenlv  home. 


42  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

WINTER. 

THE  brook  by  the  stern  old  King's  device, 
Has  been  set  in  jeweled  band  of  ice, 
In  garments  of  white  the  brambles  stand 
.      Like  gem-decked  bride  from  fairy  land. 

Ah !  the  winter's  snow  and  the  winter's  cold, 
Will  give  back  blessings  a  thousand  fold ; 
So,  in  many  a  heart,  all  hidden,  lies 
A  thought  that  anon  will  reach  the  skies. 

Who  wealth  of  knowledge  would  make  his  goal, 
Who  would  write  his  name  on  the  lofty  scroll 
Unfolded  by  Truth,  as  she  leads  the  way 
Where  the  clouds  of  mist'ry  are  rolled  away, 

Must  write  on  his  banner:  Upward  still, 
Though  winds  blow  fair  or  winds  blow  ill! 
And  upward  and  onward  day  by  day, 
With  resolute  will  must  take  his  way 

With  dauntless  purpose  and  will  of  steel, 
And  heart  that  the  wrongs  of  the  world  can  feel, 
Like  the  Jews  who  fled  from  Egypt's  night, 
Must  be  led  by  the  cloud  and  pillar  of  light. 

All  labor  is  gladness,  all  study  joy, 

And  the  gold  of  thought  is  without  alloy, 

And  happy  the  soul  that  can  wander  long 

In  the  realms  of  thought  and  the  realms  of  song. 

Life  is  a  journey,  and  storms  abound, 
But  after  the  tempest  sweet  peace  is  found ; 
Life  is  a  journey,  and  clouds  must  rise, 
But  our  rest  will  be  sweet  in  Paradise. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 
THE  YEAR'S  FAREWELL. 

AUTUMN  has  lost  her  sunny  smile, 

Her  brow  is  wet  with  tears, 
Her  sandaled  feet  follow  the  path, 

Of  the  departed  years. 
Though  robed  right  royally  she  came 

In  purple  and  in  gold, 
Her  faded  garments,  old  and  brown, 

Are  torn  in  every  fold. 

With  beautiful,  gift-laden  hands, 

She  knocked  at  Nature's  door, 
Scattering  her  treasures  far  and  wide — 

She's  dying  old  and  poor. 
The  wild  wind  sweeps  her  vacant  halls, 

Her  purple  grapes  are  pressed, 
Her  harvest-moon,  in  splendor  mild, 

Has  faded  in  the  west. 

And  while  she  shuts  Time's  iron  gate, 

With  fingers  cold  and  chill, 
She  sees,  through  tears,  King  Winter  set 

His  watch-fires  on  the  hill. 
Disrobed  and  pale  she  falls  asleep, 

Folded  to  Earth's  cold  breast, 
The  seal  of  silence  on  her  lips, 

Eternal  is  her  rest. 


For  some  the  Spring  of  life  is  past, 
For  some  Summer  is  o'er — 

While  others  gathering  harvest-sheaves, 
Find  winter  at  the  door. 


4 .  A  UTUMN  L  EA  VES. 

But  Winter's  rold,  white  mystery 

Will  break  in  loving  tears, 
When  we  have  climbed  where  angels  stand, 

Above  life's  stormy  years. 

And  if  our  ladder's  golden  rounds 

Are  pravers  and  generous  deeds, 
If  never  faltering  we  have  tried 

To  help  the  world's  great  needs : 
If,  clambering  up  the  mountain  side, 

Our  guide  the  Morning  Star — 
We've  battled  in  Truth's  sacred  ranks 

We'll  find  the  "  Gates  ajar." 

Though  with  our  gleanings  tares  are  found, 

Or  thorns,  or  withered  leaves, 
God  will  accept  our  toil-won  grain. 

From  out  the  tear  stained  sheaves: 
And  though  chill  fingers  spread  the  pall, 

If  love  and  faith  unite, 
A  harvest-home  our  coming  waits, 

Upon  the  plains  of  light. 


THE  CHRISTIAN'S  WORK. 

OH,  is  it  not  a  holy  task 
To  cheer  a  saddened  heart, 

When  loving  word,  or  look,  or  smile, 
May  cause  joy-buds  to  start? 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  45 

Oh,  is  it  not  a  blessed  thing 

To  clasp  the  trembling  hand, 
And  whisper  of  the  higher  strength, 

Which  comes  at  Faith's  command? 

'Tis  often  but  a  little  thing, 

The  cooling  draught  to  give, 
But  it  may  yield  some  fainting  heart 

The  strength  to  love  and  live. 

A  simple  song,  a  tender  tone, 

Have  oft  such  power  to  cheer, 
That  weary  feet  will  heavenward  climb, 

That  else  had  stumbled  here. 

We  may  not  pluck  the  orange  blooms 

To  deck  the  happy  bride, 
But  we  can  strew  our  rose-buds  fair 

O'er  the  little  child  that  died. 

Though  we  may  never  gather  pearls 

Where  ocean's  treasures  glow, 
Still  we  can  guide  the  little  ones 

"  Where  living  waters  flow." 

It  may  be  but  a  little  thing 

To  give  "  only  a  tear"  - — 
Or  in  our  prayers  to  speak  a  name 

That  angel  watchers  hear. 

What  if  our  mite  be  small  indeed, 

Our  lamp  give  little  light, 
Some  sadder  soul  we  still  may  bless, 

And  cheer  through  storm  and  night.  ' 


46  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

We  can  not  guide  the  freighted  ship 
Amid  the  breakers  white, 

But  we  can  build  the  beacon  fires 
Upon  some  rocky  height. 

Too  weak  to  stand  amid  the  strong 
When  the  trumpet  calls  to  war, 

We  still  can  pray  for  victory, 
And  the  reign  of  Bethlehem's  Star. 

And,  reaching  forth  the  hand  of  help 
To  the  lowly  and  the  poor, 

Can  guide  the  feet  that  else  would  stray 
Where  Sin  keeps  open  door. 

As  pilgrims  to  the  shrine  of  Truth, 
We  bring  our  gifts  of  love, 

And  thus  life's  lessons,  sad  and  dark, 
Will  prove  like  Noah's  dove. 

The  messenger  to  guide  our  ark 
To  mountain  heights  of  rest, 

Where,  far  above  the  floods  of  woe, 
Stands  our  Ararat  the  blest. 


AN  EDITOR'S  WASTE-BASKET. 

A  NICE  little  basket  sits  under  the  table — 
A  grave  for  bright  hopes  and  dark  fears — 

As  deep  as  the  ocean,  as  cold  as  its  bosom, 
Hiding  heart-pangs  and  longings  and  tears. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  47 

Sense  that  is  shipwrecked  and  words  that  are  wasted, 

In  its  cavernous  darkness  and  gloom, 
Find  silence  forever,  without  resurrection, 

In  the  editor's  basket — their  tomb. 

Alas,  I  remember  that  terrible  basket! 

Its  depths  are  unfathomed,  unknown, 
There  fancies  lie  fading,  like  leaves  in  December, 

Budding  life-dreams  forever  unblown; 
An  editor's  welcome !  ah,  keep  me  and  save  me 

From  seeing  his  frown  or  his  sneer; 
'Tis  enough  that  my  brain-child,  my  loved,  and  my  lost  one, 

Was  buried  unblest  by  a  tear. 


THE  CHOICE. 

"WHICH  shall  it  be,  dear  mother? 

To  which  home  shall  I  go? 
The  grand  old  castle  beside  the  sea, 

Or  the  little  brown  cot  below?  " 

"Which  shall  it  be,  dear  mother? 

A  plain  white  muslin  gown, 
Or  the  richest  and  rarest  of  lace  and  silk 

To  be  found  in  Insleytown?  " 

"  Which  shall  it  be,  dear  mother? 

A  tiny  plain  gold  ring, 
Or  wealth  of  gems  and  diamonds  rare, 

That  would  ransom  a  captive  king?  '' 


48  AUTUMN  LEAVES. 

"  My  child,  your  heart  must  answer 
The  question  your  lips  have  asked, 

Lest  sowing  in  pride  you  sorrow, 
When  the  harvest  is  overpast. 

Choose  with  your  heart,  my  darling; 

Let  pride  be  swept  away; 
Flowers  are  fairer  than  jewels, 

Gather  them  while  you  may. 

Often  glittering  diamonds 
Conceal  but  an  aching  brow, 

And  the  chill  heart's  bitter  throbbings, 
Bear  record  to  falsehood's  vow. 

Truth  is  the  brightest  jewel 
That  womanhood  can  wear, 

Never  a  silken  robe  can  cure 
A  heart  grown  sick  with  care. 

This  world  is  not  all  sunshine, 
There's  many  a  stormy  day, 

And  love  is  the  sweetest  shelter, 
When  clouds  obscure  the  \vav. 

So  choose  from  your  heart,  my  daughter, 
Remember,  this  life  of  ours 

Must  have  some  thorns  and  briers 
Among  its  fairest  flowers. 

But  thorns,  and  tears,  and  darkness, 
Matter  not,  so  love  is  true ; 

While  you  climb,  keep  step  together, 
With  the  higher  life  in  view, 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  49 

SONG  OF  SPRING. 

TALK  not  to  me  of  Winter's  joys, 

Away  with  his  icy  breath  ; 
Binding  the  streams  in  crystal  chains, 

Chilling  the  flowers  in  death! 

Give  me  the  gentle  breeze  that  blows 

From  sunny  southern  isles, 
Kissing  the  maple,  waking  the  rose, 

Decking  the  earth  in  smiles. 

Child  of  the  sun!  beauteous  spring! 

I  greet  thee  once  again! 
For  I  hear  the  ring-dove's  cooing  notes, 

The  blue-bird's  sweet  refrain. 


"  THE  MASTER  CALLETH  FOR  THEE." 

SINNERS,  straying  far  from  home, 
Listen,  and  no  longer  roam; 
Cease  all  sinning,  cease  ail  grieving, 
Jesus  calls,  O,  come  believing! 

Mourner,  sad  and  broken  hearted, 
From  thy  loved  ones  art  thou  parted? 
List,  a  voice  to  thee  is  crying: 
"  '  Look  aloft!  '  and  cease  all  sighing." 

Have  you  faith?  then  never  falter, 
Lav  your  heart  upon  God's  alter; 
For,  however  weary  weeping, 
Jesus  holds  thee  in  His  keeping. 


50  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

See !  the  heavy  cross  is  glorious, 
Since  the  bleeding  Christ,  victorious, 
Conquered  doubt,  and  sin,  and  sorrow, 
Lifting  clouds  from  Death's  to-morrow. 


UNANSWERED  PRAYERS. 

DOES  your  heart  grow  sad,  as  the  sunlight 
Gilds  the  brow  of  new-born  day — 

So  sad  o'er  days  you've  wasted, 
That  you  scarcely  dare  to  pray? 

And  the  prayers  the  Father  answered, 

And  those  he  refused  to  hear? 
Which  proved  his  love  most  clearly? 

Which  brought  His  presence  near? 

Were  you  always  wise  in  your  asking? 

Does  no  curse  of  a  granted  prayer 
Fall  on  your  breast  like  a  shadow 

To  darken  the  sunlight  there? 

And  the  prayers  that  were  left  unanswered, 
Do  you  see  where  your  wishes  led? 

Through  valleys  of  doubt  and  darkness — 
Such  wild-crags  overhead? 

'Tis  well,  if  in  prayers  unanswered 
We  can  see  the  Father's  love — 

Or  feel  that  each  unasked  blessing 
Descends  from  God  above. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  5 1 

That  in  mercy  He  bids  our  angel 

Bear  the  words  of  our  prayers  away 
To  the  caves,  where  dark  oblivion, 

Holds  ever  a  silent  sway. 

Ah,  -we  can  not  see  the  wisdom 

That  sends  us  tears  and  pain, 
Instead  of  the  earthly  blessings, 

Our  prayers  so  boldly  claim. 

Shall  we  cease  to  pray,  since,  darkly, 

We  grope  'mid  tangled  ways? 
A  promise  is  only  given 

To  the  soul  that  humbly  prays. 

One  prayer  is  sure  of  answer: 

" Thy  will,  O  Lord,  be  done!  " 
But  this  prayer  is  never  whispered 

'Till  victory  has  been  won.  f 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  GATE. 

You  may  enter  in  : 
O,  why  thus  wait? 
Standing  beside  the  beautiful  gate, 
Time  passes  fast  and  the  hour  is  late. 

You  may  enter  in : 
The  daylight's  past, 
The  night  comes  on  in  storm  and  blast; 
Dark  clouds  are  hurrying  swiftly  past. 


52  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

You  may  enter  in: 
You  need  not  fear! 

The  way  you  have  come  may  be  dark  and  drear, 
The  darkness  can  never  enter  here! 

You  may  enter  in : 
O,  why  thus  doubt? 
God  will  never  keep  his  children  out, 
On  the  fierce  wild  waves  to  be  tossed  about. 

You  may  enter  in  : 
There  is  no  care, 

Sorrow,  or  sin,  in  that  land  so  fair; 
Love  and  peace  dwell  only  there! 

You  may  enter  in : 
O,  who  can  tell 

What  joy  with  the  Father  thus  to  dwell; 
The  "Father  who  doeth  all  things  well." 


MY  VISION. 

I  SAW  an  angel  floating  earthward, 

In  her  robes  of  dazzling  light; 
Shall  I  tell  the  glorious  visions 

She  unfolded  to  my  sight? 

Heaven's  gates  were  like  transparent  crystal, 
And  songs  too  sweet  for  mortal  ear 

Echoed  through  the  mists  of  midnight, 
Echoed  through  each  rolling  sphere  I 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  53 

"Our  God  is  just" — the  glorious  anthem 

Floated  earthward  from  the  sky; 
"Then  why,"  I  whispered,  "  all  earth's  sorrow, 

Angel  of  Mercy,  tell  me  why?  " 

Mercy,  turning,  gazed  upon  me, 

Rapture  and  Faith  were  in  her  eye, 
Though  mortals  weep,  in  darkness  groping, 

Heaven's  joys  await   them  by-and-by." 

While  Mercy  spoke,  one  stood  beside  me, 

A  child  of  earth  to  heaven  dear, 
"  'Tis  well,"  he  said,  "  the  Father  loves  us, 

For  lo,  He  sends  His  angels  here!  " 

"  O,  listen,  Mercy,  we  are  waiting 
To  hear  the  Master's  welcome,  "  come!  " 

Thorns  and  darkness  hedge  our  pathway, 
Above  are  flowers,  light  and  home." 

Then,  Mercy  answered,  "you  are  strangers, 

Wandering  now  in  stranger  lands, 
But  where  the  Savior  waits  to  greet  you, 

Love  binds  all  hearts  with  golden  bands. 

"Stranger  and  friendless,"  are  not  spoken 
Of  those  who've  crossed  the  darksome  tide, 

The  chains  of  sin  and  pain  are  broken, 
Before  you  reach  the  further  side. 

There,  pure  and  undefiled,  you'll  wander, 

Temptation  free  along  the  shore; 
Of  that  bright  river  from  whose  fountain 

Your  thirst  is  quenched  forever  more. 


54  AUTUMN  LEAVES. 


PRAISE. 

PRAISE  God,  though  darkest  clouds 

Around  thy  pathway  hover, 
A  silver  lining  bright  and  fair, 

You  may  at  last  discover. 

What  though  the  stars  are  hid  from  view? 

They  shine  as  bright  as  ever; 
God's  love,  though  we  may  fear  and  doubt, 

In  sorrow  fails  us  never. 

No  earthly  love,  or  earthly  hope, 
Can  light  Death's  lonely  hour; 

Praise  God  who  o'er  the  gloomy  grave 
Hath  everlasting  power. 


OVER  THE  RIVER. 

OVER  the  river: 
Dear  friends  are  there, 
Dwellers  in  Eden-land  so  fair, 
Free  from  sorrow,  pain,  and  care; 
Do  they  ever  think  of  the  earth-worn  band, 
Striving  to  gain  the  beautiful  land, 
While  their  feet  sink  deep  in  the  mire  and  sand, 
Down  by  the  river? 
Over  the  river : 

While  they  are  walking  the  streets  of  gold 
Do  they  think  of  the  wanderers  from  the  fold, 
Whose  faith  is  weak,  whose  hearts  are  cold? 


A  VTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Do  they  know  how  long  we  must  watch  and  wait 
Ere  the  bridegroom  opens  the  pearly  gate? 
And  wonder  why  he  comes  so  latel 
Over  the  river. 

Death's  dark  River, 
Its  waters  deep, 

Will  bear  me  safe  to  my  dreamless  sleep, 
For  angel  watchers  a  vigil  keep. 
Then  O,  my  soul,  why  should  I  fear, 
Though  the  surging  waves  I  can  almost  hear, 
When  Bethlehem's  Star  is  shining  clear, 
Over  the  river? 

Beyond  the  River, 
There's  no  dark  night! 
When,  O,  soul,  wilt  thou  take  thy  flight, 
To  dwell  in  the  home  of  life  and  light, 

Over  the  river? 


DESTINY. 

THROUGH  all  the  course  of  time, 

Weariness,  want  and  woe, 
Trudging  beside  the  carriage  of  wealth, 

Over  the  broad  earth  go. 

While  slowly,  and  sadly,  side  by  side, 

Idleness,  sorrow  and  sin 
Walk  by  the  door  of  plenty  and  pride — 

By  the  door,  but  enter  not  in. 


56  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Day  by  day,  since  time  began, 

Passion  severs  the  chain, 
Whose  golden  links  bind  loving  hearts, 

And  broken  they  ever  remain. 

Through  all  the  course  of  time, 
Friends  are  called  to  sever, 

Some  will  meet  ere  the  morn  is  o'er, 
Some  part,  and  part  forever. 

Ever,  as  time  goes  on, 

New  souls  are  born  to  earth, 

Souls  that  must  enter  the  valley  of  death, 
To  reach  the  heavenly  birth. 


"AT  SPES  NON  FRACTA." 

THE  snow-flakes  fell  from  a  cloud-veiled  sky, 
And  Winter,  in  ermined  robes,  passed  by; 
His  steed  was  the  wind,  with  icy  breath, 
His  chariot  wheels  were  the  wheels  of  death, 
Crushing  out  life  and  beauty. 

The  flowers  of  the  forest  drooped  and  died, 
Lilies  and  violets,  side  bv  side, 
Slept  underneath  the  snow-covered  ground, 
And  the  rivulet  ceased  its  murmuring  sjun  ', 
Its  babblings  of  Nature's  duty. 

The  wind-tossed  trees  with  their  barren  limbs, 
Seem  beating  time  to  funeral  hymns, 


57 


And  the  white  earth  looks,  in  moonlight  pale, 
Like  maiden,  wrapped  in  her  bridal  veil, 
Dead,  at  the  marriage  altar. 

Death  unto  life;  and  life  unto  death; 
Rest  of  the  grave,  after  fleeting  breath ; 
Life  unto  death ;  and  death  unto  life ; 
The  rest  of  Heaven,  after  anxious  strife — • 
Then,  mortal,  wherefore  falter? 

Or  wherefore  weep  for  thy  treasure-trove, 
Lost  in  the  depths  of  boundless  love, 
Buried,  mayhap,  on  the  battle  plain, 
Unknown — mid  thousands  of  heroes  slain — 
His  place  of  dreamless  sleeping. 

Unknown  to    thee!  but  the  Father's  eye 
Marketh  the  place  where  His  children  lie; 
As  Spring  but  follows  the  Winter's  strife, 
The  Christian's  death  brings  a  purer  life, 
God's  morn,  after  night's  weeping. 


LABOR  WHILE  YOU  MAY. 

SHORT  the  time  for  labor,  do  not  idly  wait 
Outside  the  vineyard,  standing  at  the  gate; 
List,  the  Master  calls  you,  labor  while  you  may, 
Ere  the  evening  shadows  gather  round  your  way. 

Short  the  time  for  labor,  let  no  darksome  shade, 

From  the  love  of  pleasure,  on  the  soul  be  made ; 

Leave  the  shadowed  woodland,  where  dark  phantoms  hide, 

Haste  thee  to  the  flower-land  on  the  other  side. 


58  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Short  the  time  for  labor;  from  the  sheltering  bay 
On  the  tidal-wave,  your  ship  will  sail  away; 
Trim  the  sails — if  need  be,  take  the  guiding  helm, 
Shun  the  rocky  head-land,  ere  cold  waves  o'erwhelm. 

Short  the  time  for  labor;  in  the  self-same  way, 
Purposes  are  moulded,  as  potters  mould  their  clay; 
Watch  the  wheel,  slow  turning,  guiding  it  at  will, 
Lest  the  clay  be  wasted,  tl.e  dish  be  fashioned  ill. 

Short  the  time  for  labor;  see,  across  the  plain 
Where  the  seed  was  planted,  bends  the  ripened  grain; 
Hear  the  earnest  workers  sing  amid  the  sheaves: 
Would  you  bear  the  Master  only  withered  leaves? 

Short  the  time  for  labor;  summer  fades  and  dies, 
Mists  and  snows  of  winter  drift  adown  the  skies; 
Wherefore,  dost  thou  linger  'till  the  midnight  bell, 
With  slow  solemn  tolling,  life's  last  hour  shall  tell? 

Short  the  time  for  labor;  endless  years  for  rest; 
See,  the  sun  is  sinking  in  the  cloud-lined  west; 
Don  TrutJt's  shining  armor,  work  in  faith  and  love, 
Only  prayer  and  labor  can  win  the  home  above. 


"  ORA  ET  LABORA." 

LABOR,  Christian!  earth  is  groaning 
With  sin,  and  want,  and  cruel  pain, 

While  many  souls,  in  midnight  darkness, 
Hug  to  their  hearts  Doubt's  bitter  chain. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  59 


Labor!  hearts  led  by  temptation 
Walk  swift  along  the  downward  way; 

Gather  up  the  "  Lambs  of  Jesus," 
Lest  in  the  wilderness  they  stray. 

Christian,  pray!  Let  thy  petition 
Like  sweet  incense  reach  the  throne, 

While  the  waiting,  listening  angels, 
Bending  low,  shall  catch  the  tone. 

"  Labor  and  pray!  "  this  is  the  mission- 
The  birth-right  we  all  may  share, 

And  thus  become  of  life  eternal, 

With  Christ,  an  equal  heavenly  heir. 


THE  LITTLE  ONE'S  PRAYER. 

'TwAS  only  a  wayside  cottage, 

But  the  firelight,  cheery  and  red, 
Fell  soft  on  the  white-robed  figure 

Of  a  child,  by  the  trundle-bed: 
"God  bress  my  mamma  and  papa!  " 

Then  she  paused  in  her  evening  prayer, 
And  added,  with  faith  undoubting, 

"  And  kitty  aseep  in  the  chair." 

The  night-winds  were  wildly  raging, 
Piling  high  the  pillars  of  snow, 

Though  wandering  in  storm  and  darkness, 
In  my  heart  was  a  summer  glow. 


60  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

The  faith  of  the  child  had  cheered  me, 
Doubt  folded  his  ebon-hued  wing 

As  I  cried,  "  O,  loving  Savior, 
A  child,  to  Thy  cross  I  cling." 

Their  march,  the  stars  have  been  keeping 

Long  years,  since  that  lone  winter  night, 
But  memory  still  holds  a  picture 

Of  the  ruddy,  shimmering  light 
Sent  out  from  the  burning  faggot, 

And  the  little  one's  evening  prayer; 
"  God  brcss  my  ma  mm  i  and  papa, 

And  kitty  ascep  in  the  chair." 

Tossed  mid  the  roar  of  the  breakers, 

Wind-driven  by  tempest-clouds  wild, 
I  hear  not  the  storm-wraith  wailing, 

For,  soft  steals  the  voice  of  a  child 
Adown  life's  mystical  pathway ; 

Once  again  that  prayer  I  can  hear, 
And  doubts  from  my  heart  are  banished, 

And  the  star  of  my  faith  shines  clear. 


THANKSGIVING. 

O,  GOD,  our  Father!  we  \vould  bring 
The  incense  of  our  praise, 

For  mercies  past,  mercies  to  come — 
O,  keep  us  in  Thy  ways ! 

Teach  us  to  do  Thy  holy  will, 
And  bear  our  humble  part, 
In  lifting  up  some  fallen  one, 
Soothing  some  broken  heart. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  61 

Jesus,  thy  life,  we  fain  would  make 

A  pattern  for  our  own  ; 
Thanksgiving,  freely  do  we  bring, 

That  Thou  the  way  hast  shown. 

Our  hands  in  pity,  care,  and  love 

Extend  at  Thy  command, 
To  help  the  sad  and  erring  ones, 

Wandering  on  every  hand. 

We  thank  Thee  for  Thy  mercies,  God, 

Thy  long-enduring  love; 
We  thank  Thee  for  the  Book  of  books, 

The  guide  to  heaven  above. 

Father,  accept  this  humble  song, 

Which  from  our  lips  ascends, 
And  grant  that  we  may  enter  where 

Thanksgiving  never  ends. 


DESOLATION. 

AUTUMN  is  dying,  coldly  drear 
The  wailing  winds  are  sweeping 

Ad  own  the  glen,  across  the  fen — • 
The  fading  flowers  are  weeping. 

Autumn  is  dying,  fallen  leaves 
In  forest  paths  are  drifting; 

The  year  is  old,  the  trees,  a-cold, 
Bare  arms  to  heaven  are  lifting. 


6a  AUTUMN  LEAVES. 

Autumn  is  dying;  forest  aisles 
No  more  with  joy  are  ringing; 

In  southern  bowers,  mid  fadeless  flowers 
The  songsters,  sweet,  are  singing. 

Autumn  is  dying;  chill  and  cold, 
O'er  her  face  shadows  are  stealing; 

In  midnight  drear,  in  solemn  prayer 
By  her  couch,  the  Old  Year's  kneeling. 

Autumn  is  dying;  her  dear  face 
In  the  blight  of  death  is  fading; 

Love's  saddest  strain,  sorrows  refraini 
All  Nature  seems  pervading. 

Autumn  is  dying;  loving  hands 
Stretch  forth  in  mute  caressings, 

And  tears  are  shed,  and  her  dying  bed 
Is  consecrate  with  blessings. 


WANDERING. 

I'D  WANDERED  afar  from  the  Shepherd'sfold- 
The  way  was  thorny,  and  dark,  and  cold; 
My  garments  faded,  and  rent,  and  worn, 
My  feet  were  bleeding  and  brier-torn; 
So  long,  in  the  forest,  I'd  been  astray, 
That  I  no  longer  could  trace  the  way, 
Sadly  weeping  and  sore  afraid, 
In  the  perilous  journey  I  paused  dismayed. 

Darkly  had  fallen  the  stormy  night — 
Hidden  were  all  the  stars  from  sight; 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  63 

Wedding  garments  had  I  none, 
My  lamp  was  out,  my  oil  was  gone, 
Weary,  fainting  and  travel-soiled, 
Over  the  barren  moor  I  toiled; 
Weeping,  I  came  to  the  lonely  cross 
And  laid  in  its  shadow  my  pain  and  loss. 

Slowly  faded  the  darksome  night, 

The  "  Star  of  morn  "  made  the  pathway  light, 

And,  humbly,  I  lifted  my  burdens  once  more, 

And  climbed  the  mountain  and  crossed  the  moor, 

And  sought  again  the  shelter  and  care 

Of  the  loving  Shepherd,  Who  waited  there 

At  the  door  of  the  fold ;  and  peace  and  rest 

I  found  for  aye,  on  his  loving  breast. 


ONLY  A  STEP. 

ONLY  A  step,  said  a  fair  young  child, 
As  she  paused  a  moment,  looked  up,  and  smiled} 
The  way  had  seemed  long  to  her  weary  feet, 
As  slowly  she  traversed  the  drearv  street. 

Only  a  step;   the  words  were  a  sigh — 
And  the  student  raised  his  thoughtful  eye; 
The  road  was  rough,  thorns  pierced  his  feet, 
But  the  heights  of  fame  his  vision  greet. 

Only  a  step;  my  hairs  are  gray — 
I  have  come  a  long  and  toilsome  way; 
Truth  is  my  leader,  Faith  my  guide, 
With  them  I  can  safely  cross  Death's  tide. 


64  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Only  a  step;  but  I  have  no  fears — 

The  grave  may  be  dark,  and  wet  with  tears — 

There's  a  Star  in  the  East,  whose  beams  light  the  West, 

And  beyond  is  the  city  of  endless  rest. 


SHALL  WE  KNOW  EACH  OTHER  IN  HEAVEN? 

SHALL  we  know  each  other  in  heaven, 
When  all  pain  and  toil  are  o'er? 

Shall  we  know  the  friends  we  have  loved, 
The  friends  that  have  gone  before— 
To  that  u  shining  shore?  " 

Shall  we  know  each  other  above, 

When  the  grave  shall  give  up  its  prey- 
When  the  Savior  shall  lead  his  "  lambs  " 
Through    the  silent,  shadowy  way, 
To  a  land  of  nightless  day? 

Shall  we  know  each  other  in  heaven? 

Ah,  who  would  care  to  go, 
If  those  we've  cherished  here 

We  were  never  more  to  know — 
The  dear  friends  we  love  so! 

Shall  we  know  each  other  above? 

Ah,  better  an  endless  sleep, 
Than  to  lose  all  thought  of  the  past 

In  Eternity's  great  deep ; 

What  could  we  do  but  weep? 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  65 

We  shall  know  each  other  in  heaven — 

No  dear  ones  there  to  miss! 
When  we  reach  our  Father's  house, 

There  be  no  parting  kiss, 
In  that  world  of  bliss. 


ASLEEP  AT  HIS  POST. 

BURIED  in  dreams  of  home  and  friends, 

Joy  and  hope  with  his  vision  blends, 

Forgotten  his  toil,  unheeded  the  blast, 

To  him  the  sleep-angel  gives  back  the  past; 

Forgotten  the  foe  encamped  on  the  plain, 

In  dream-land  he  wanders  with  loved  ones  again; 

But  the  roar  of  the  cannon  sounds  on  his  ear, 

And  he  starts  up  appalled  with  swift-rushing  fear; 

Alas!  'tis  too  late,  for  that  terrible  host 

Found  the  sentinel-soldier  asleep  at  his  post. 

And  there  are  watchmen  on  Zion's  tower 

Unheeding  the  strife  of  the  present  hour, 

With  folded  hands  and  careless  eje, 

They  give  no  warning  to  passers-by; 

No  watchword  they  give  as  they  pass  along, 

To  the  hosts  led  captive  by  pleasure's  song, 

Till  roused  from  their  slumbers  they  find  with  dismay, 

Their  foes  closing    round  with  the  closing  day, 

And  unquelled  passions,  a  terrible  host, 

Take  captive  the  watchman  asleep  at  his  post. 

We  arc  watchmen  all,  by  the  gate  of  Death; 
Life  is  passing  away  as  passes  a  breath. 


66  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

We  must  fight  fierce  battles  with  selfish  pride, 
As  we  march  down  the  sands  by  the  river  side; 
Let  the  watchword  be  duty,  we'll  close  not  our  eyes, 
Lest  the  army  of  sin  take  our  heart  by  surprise: 
But  the  fiercer  the  battle  the  brighter  the  crown 
We  shall  wear,  when  our  earthly  sun  goes  down, 
And  a  glorious  welcome  shall  greet  the  host 
Of  watchmen  who  ne'er  fell  asleep  at  their  post. 


"  FATHER,  GUIDE  ME  1 »» 

LONELY,  lonely  is  my  pathway, 
Weary  have  my  footsteps  grown, 

Reaping  only  pain  and  sorrow, 
Sad  and  fainting  far  from  home! 

Father!  Father!  hear  my  wailing, 
Guard  and  strengthen  me  I  prayl 

Teach  me,  guide  me,  lest  I  wander 
Blindly,  weakly,  from  Thy  way! 

Guide  me,  guide  me  o'er  Death's  river 
When  I  reach  its  darksome  tide! 

Boldly,  safely  I  may  venture, 
With  the  Savior  for  my  guide.   *. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  67 


FLOWERS  OF  OLDEN  TIME. 

THE  modest  blue  violet, 

Kissed  by  the  soft  dew, 
Dwells  content,  since  God  wills  it, 

In  wild  hedge-rows  from  view. 
And  the  sweet  child  of  nature, 

Fair  alljsum  pale, 
Half  hides  her  shy  beauty, 

In  her  white  bridal  veil. 

The  gay  silken  poppies 

Leave  their  dreams  half  untold, 
To  their  little  French  sisters, 

The  bright  marigold, 
To  watch  the  nasturtion, 

That  flaunts  overhead, 
Forgetting  the  brown  earth 

Was  ever  her  bed. 

Wake-robins  and  catch-fly. 

Country  cousins,  we  think 
Of  the  fragrant  carnation, 

Sweet-william  and  pink. 
The  dahlias  so  stately 

In  velvet  and  gold, 
Beside  the  proud  fox-glove 

Their  glories  unfold. 

Red  roses  for  youth, 

When  the  spirits  are  gay; 

Purple  pansies  for  age, 
When  the  hair  has  grown  gray; 


68  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Roses  and  smiling 
Are  seemly  together; 

Pansies  are  prayerful 
In  gloomiest  weather. 

The  white  lily  weeps 

At  the  closing  of  day; 
Does  she  mourn  for  the  tempted 

Ones,  going  astray? 
The  daisy  looks  up 

When  the  still  stars  are  shining; 
And  the  moss,  lowly  creeping, 

Is  ne'er  heard  repining. 

Forget-me-nots  whisper 

Of  dear  ones  departed, 
Of  one  we  once  loved, 

Who  died,  broken-hearted. 
The  bright  morning-glory, 

That  lives  but  an  hour, 
Teaches  how  fleeting 

Are  grandeur  and  power. 

Yet  sweeter,  and  dearer, 

And  fairer  than  all, 
Is  the  pale,  pink  sweet-brier, 

Growing  close  to  the  wall. 
In  the  garden  of  childhood, 

Where  narcissus,  white, 
Made  the  shadowy  nook 

A  fair  dream  of  delight. 

But  that  home  is  o'ershadowed 
By  Death  and  the  Tomb, 

And  o'er  the  old  garden, 
Broods  the  spirit  of  gloom. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  6g 

For  only  in  heaven. 

Are  flowers  blooming  ever, 
And  only  in  heaven 

Friends  love  on  forever. 


THE  CRY  OF  A  LOST  SOUL  I 

"  GIVE  me  liberty!"  the  drunkard  cries; 

"  See  you  not  this  cursed  chain  ? 
It  binds  my  soul  to  endless  death; 

It  burns  into  my  brain." 

The  red,  red  wine,  see  how  it  foams, 

Is  there  no  rest  for  me? 
Unloose  these  chains!  unbind  these  bands! 

And  set  my  spirit  free. 

O,  give  me  liberty!  it  falls  from  lips 

All  pale  with  coming  death — 
A  soul's  last  cry,  with  the  heart's  last  beat, 

And  ends  with  the  fleeting  breath. 


AFTER  DEATH. 

I'LL  lay  white  flowers  upon  his  breast; 
The'  Lord  has  given  peace  and  rest; 
His  saint-like  face  was  fair  to  see, 
Even  after  Death's  Gethsemane. 


70  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Ah  !  did  he  see  a  vision  fair, 
Of  angels  hovering  in  the  air? 
And  did  he  hear  the  anthem  free, 
"  O,  Death!  where  is  thy  victory?  " 

That  his  rapt  face  in  slumbers  deep 
Should  smiling  lie,  in  dreamless  sleep; 
As  if  the  opening  gates  of  heaven, 
A  glory  to  his  face  had  given? 

For  him  all  toil  and  pain  is  done, 
He  bore  the  cross — the  victory  won; 
He  fought — then  at  the  battle's  close 
He  found  ineffable  repose. 

His  glorious  crown  of  silver  hair! 
His  face,  like  marble  pure  and  fair; 
His  folded  hands  in  holy  calm 
Are  worthy  of  the  Martyr's  palm. 

I'll  lay  white  flowers  upon  his  breast, 
Emblem  of  his  peaceful  rest; 
Never  more  for  him  shall  be 
The  pain  of  Death's  Gethsemane. 


THE  PAST. 

7  LET  the  dead  past  lie  under  the  daisies, 

Begin  life's  battles  anew; 
Have  the  waters  of  pain  baptized  thee? 
In  the  future  prove  trusty  and  true. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  71 

Tears  can  not  wash  away  sinning, 

Deeds  of  atonement  are  just; 
The  talent  that's  hid  in  a  napkin^ 

Will  only  be  gathering  rust. 

Let  thy  life  have  another  beginning, 

Thy  service  a  higher  aim ; 
Truth,  and  honest  endeavor, 

Sanctify  sorrow  and  pain. 

Moments  thoughtlessly  wasted 

Are    ever  mementoes  of  grief; 
If  we  scatter  no  seed  in  the  spring-time, 

Summer  gives  no  blossom  or  leaf. 

Let  the  dead  past  be  ever  thy  lesson, 

Every  day,  as  it  goes,  is  a  loan ; 
The  deeds  of  to-day  are  your  treasures, 

Time  present  is  only  your  own. 

Yesterday's  dead,  and  to-morrow, 

For  you  its  sun  never  may  rise ; 
You  have  only  to-day  for  life's  roses, 

Their  bloom  in  the  even-tide  dies. 

The  past  is  safe  in  God's  keeping; 
To-day  he  has  given  in  trust; 

To-morrow  may  bring  us  life's  ending- 
Mortality — dust  shall  be  dust! 

Who  shall  set  bounds  to  the  future? 

The  past  thy  lesson  must  be; 
Strength  ever  comes  with  the  doing, 

Pruning  saves  many  a  tree. 


73  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Remember,  the  spirit's  immortal, 
For  it  there's  weal  or  there's  woe; 

Let  thy  soul-strivings  ever  be  upward, 
For  you  ever  must  reap,  as  you  sow. 


THE  UNKNOWN. 

'    IF  I  could  see  God's  will  in  all  the  sorrows 

That  rise,  like  specters,  in  my  darkened  path; 
If  I  could  feel  that  all  life's  untold  anguish 

Was  sent  in  love,  untinged  with  heaven's  wrath, 
In  silence  I  would  bow  and  hush  complainings, 

And  with  an  eye  of  faith  no  longer  clouded, 
Cling  to  the  mighty  Hand  that  leads  me  onward 

Beyond  these  valleys,  low,  and  mist  enshrouded.  ^/ 

'•'If  I,  while  sailing  through  life's  stormy  breakers, 

Tossed  to  and  fro  upon  an  ever  treacherous  sea, 
Could  hear  the  voice  that  hushed  the  angry  surges, 

And  whispered  peace  to  wind-wracked  Galilee, 
I'd  clasp  His  hand  and  walk  upon  the  waters 

With  feet  faith-sandaled  where  my  Lord  might  go — 
Though  walled  on  every  side  by  cold  and  angry  billows, 

Whose  moan  whispered  of  death  in  the  dark  depths  below./, 

If  I  could  know  that  when  this  lonely  earth-life, 

With  its  wild  phantasy  of  dreams,  had  passed  forevermore, 

I'd  find  the  one  dear  face  the  green  sod  covers, 
Waiting  to  greet  me,  safe  upon  the  other  shore; 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  73 

I'd  lift  the  Cross  with  smiles — no  longer  weary — 
Though  bending  low  to  earth  beneath  the  load 

I'd  raise  my  voice  in  notes  of  fullest  rapture, 
Though  every  foot-print  marked  the  way  in  blood. 


AN  EDITOR'S  MUSING. 

AN  EDITOR  sat  in  his  old  worn  chair, 
A  prey  to  every  vexing  care 

That  makes  up  an  editor's  life. 
He  pondered  over  mysterious  things, 
Railroad  riots  and  whisky  rings, 
Official  bribes  and  party  stings, 

Unending  political  strife. 

His  "leaders"  spoke  of  life's  strange  maze— 
The  news,  the  laws,  and  fashion's  ways; 

Politics,  poetry,  bread. 

There  were  half-remembered  dreams  of  youth, 
And  half-forgotten  gleams  of  truth, 
And  funny  jokes,  and  words  of  ruth, 

And  "how  shall  the  tramp  be  fed?  " 

Of  the  golden  chord  that  ought  to  bind 
All  men  as  brothers,  and  make  them  kind, 

Now  rusted  by  doubt  and  fear. 
And  he  cried,  "  Why  must  the  editor  see? 
His  visions  of  life's  Utopia, 
His  schemes  of  blessing  humanity 

All  melt  away  into  air?  " 


74  AUTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Then  he  thought  of  the  wood's  path,  green  and  cool^ 
The  mother's  kiss  as  he  started  for  school, 

To  the  school-house  under  the  hill, 
Where  sturdy  boys  to  manhood  grew, 
Taught  to  be  honest,  brave  and  true, 
Keeping  the  golden  rule  in  view — 

Joyous  these  memories  still  1 

He  thought  of  the  farm  house,  a  sacred  fold, 
Where  loved  ones  gathered  in  days  of  old, 

Half  covered  by  clambering  vines; 
Where  ripening  fields  and  orchards  red 
Fulfilled  God's  promise  of  righteous  bread; 
Where  rose  and  lily  their  fragrance  shed 

Beneath  the  whispering  pines. 

Four  stalwart  sons  were  the  farmer's  pride, 
In  youth  their  paths  lay  side  by  side, 

In  the  farm  house  under  the  pines. 
How  dear  the  memory  now  to  him 
Of  the  patriarch's  prayer,  the  evening  hymn, 
Which  his  mother  sang  in  the  twilight  dim, 

As  sweet  as  vesper  chimes. 

John  is  a  farmer,  "  wealthy  and  wise," 

He,  whistling,  follows  the  plow; 
No  cloud  on  his  face,  no  cloud  in  his  skies, 

His  happiness  all  must  allow. 

And  my  brother,  the  judge,  has  houses  and  lands, 

Of  eloquent  pleadings,  the  fee; 
And  Dick  went  to  Congress,  I  think  he  forgets 

He  owes  some  of  his  glory  to  me. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  75 

There's  Elijah,  the  preacher,  he's  earning  his  "  bread," 
And  though  scorners  may  cavil  and  sneer, 

He  pleads  for  the  truth,  the  truth  of  the  Lord, 
With  all  who  are  willing  to  hear; 

He  counsels  the  living,  buries  the  dead, 
Walks  humbly  in  love,  without  fear. 

And  the  doctor  finds  glory  on  every  hand, 

Right  noble,  and  tender,  and  kind 
He  ministers  well  to  the  poor  and  the  old, 

Better  man  you  never  could  find. 

An  "editor,"  I,  and  my  home's  poor  and  bare, 

My  children  are  puny  and  frail; 
I  wonder  who'll  think  of  my  hard-working  wife, 

If  my  hand  and  my  brain  should  fail? 
Who'll  ever  remember  my  toilsome  life, 

After  my  ink  is  pale? 

Ah,  surely,  there's  One  who  sees  all  my  good, 
I  think  that  He  knows  I  have  done  what  I  could; 
And  I  think  that  the  seed  which  I  long  have  been  sowing, 
In  the  sunshine  of  heaven  will  forever  keep  growing. 


THE  NEXT  TO  DIE. 

PALE  death  stood  by  the  sexton's  side, 
Watching  the  grave  grow  long  and  wide, 

Wide  and  long,  and  dark  and  deep — 
Fitting  bed  for  a  dreamless  sleep. 


76  AUTUMN  LEAVES. 

Was  it  a  phantom  flitting  by, 

That  whispered,  "  who'll  be  next  to  die?  " 

Pale  the  sexton  turned,  and  cold — 

And  gazed  at  the  growing  heap  of  mould. 

Many  a  grave  his  hands  had  made, 

And  he  slowly  paused,  with  uplifted  spade, 

And  he  thought,  "should  I  be  next  to  die, 
Who'll  make  the  bed  where  I  must  lie?  " 

Ah,  what  does  it  matter,  when  one  is  dead, 
Who  shall  hollow  the  earth-cold  bed? 

An  icy  face,  a  form  of  snow, 
We  call  it  death — yet  do  we  know 

Aught  of  the  mystery?  We  can  not  see 
The  spirit  form.     The  world  to  be, 

Like  an  unknown  shore,  in  darksome  night 
Seems  far  away,  to  our  human  sight; 

And  the  deep  grave  hides  the  holy  Star, 
Whose  light  streams  out  from  "gates  ajar." 

Alas,  how  few,  with  trusting  hand, 
Are  led  by  faith  to  the  restful  land! 

Looking  into  the  grave,  we  can  find 
Naught  but  darkness — our  eyes  are  blind. 

Looking  up,  we  may  see  the  light, 

That  lifts  the  veil  from  Death's  dark  night. 

Out  of  the  dust  all  flowers  must  bloom; 
The  path  to  heaven  is  through  the  tomb. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  77 

Christ  is  kind.     Will  he  let  us  sleep 
For  aye,  in  the  silence,  dark  and  deep? 

Out  of  our  tears  our  faith  must  grow, 
Till  smiling,  we  into  the  shadow  go, 

Led  by  the  Hand  whose  power  can  roll 

The  stone  from  the  grave  of  the  doubting  soul. 

It  little  recks,  who  is  next  to  go, 

Since  the  Master  leads,  who  hath  loved  us  so ; 

Since  the  risen  Savior  holds  each  breath 
In  his  hand  divine;  though  we  call  it  death, 

What  matter?  since  our  Lord  is  love, 
And  death  to  earth,  means  life  above. 


BROTHER  BEN  AND  I. 

How  OFT  I  turn  and  backward  glance 
Along  the  dusty  path  of  life, 

And  long  for  joys  of  childhood's  years, 
For  freedom  from  all  care  and  strife : 

O!  would  I  were  a  child  again, 

To  roam  the  fields  with  Brother  Ben. 

How  oft,  beneath  the  maple  shade, 
We  angled  for  the  speckled  trout, 

Or  sailed  our  rough,  unpainted  boat, 
With  merry  glee  and  boyish  shout; 

Life  seemed  so  joyous,  glad  and  free, 

To  little  Brother  Ben  and  me. 


78  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

The  white  eggs  all  so  deftly  hid, 

Close  to  the  eves  amid  the  hay, 
Seemed  then  of  far  more  worth  to  me 

Than  eggs  of  gold  would  seem  to-day; 
How  oft  we  climbed  the  ladder  high — 
My  little  Brother  Ben  and  I. 

Close  nestled  in  our  garret  beds, 
Our  music  was  the  pattering  rain 

Which  fell  upon  the  slanting  roof, 
With  winds  to  chime  a  loud  refrain; 

That  garret  seemed  near  heaven,  when 

I  shared  the  room  with  Brother  Ben. 

The  sparkling  brook  still  dances  on, 

The  lark's  sweet  note  rings  through  the  glade, 

The  reapers  sing  the  same  old  song, 
The  lowing  herds  stand  in  the  shade 

Of  the  deep  wood,  where  Ben  and  I 

Thought  the  tall  trees  reached  to  the  sky. 

And  we  believed  that  angel  bands — 

When  midnight  veiled  the  sleeping  earth — 

Descended  from  their  cloud-lined  halls, 
And  whispered  flowerets  into  birth; 

An  angel-ladder  seemed  each  tree 

To  little  Brother  Ben  and  me. 

Ah!  childhood's  cloudless,  rosy  hours, 

On  dazzling  wings  flitted  away, 
But  memory,  with  her  magic  wand, 

Recalls  each  sunny  scene  to-day; 
Hand  clasped  in  hand,  I  roam  again, 
Through  flower-wreathed  paths  with  Brother  Ben. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  79 


CONTENTMENT. 

THE  oriole,  in  her  hammock, 

In  the  sunshine  softly  swung, 
Close  by,  in  her  hedge-row  cottage, 
Brown  thrush  nestled  her  young; 
In  her  cunning  nest, 
Her  little  round  nest, 
While  a  joyous  song  she  sung. 

The  oriole,  just  as  sweetly, 

Sang  to  her  nestlings  three: 
"Can  she  be  happy,  I  wonder, 
In  her  castle  in  yonder  tree? 
In  that  new  style  nest, 
That  queerly  built  nest," 
Said  brown  thrush,  "  I'll  call  and  see." 

"Why  do  you  build  so  strangely?  " 

And  brown  thrush  paused  for  reply, 
And  gazed  at  the  oriole's  hammock 
With  a  mocking  scornful  eye, 
"A  queer-built  nest! 
A  new-fangled  nest! 
From  the  earth  'tis  far  too  high!  " 

"Why  weave  together  these  grasses, 

Through  the  long,  long  summer  day? 
A  better  nest  I  can  teach  you 
To  build  of  the  fragrant  hay; 
A  cunning  nest! 
A  little  round  nest! 
Hid  from  the  world  away; 


8o  AUTUMN  LEAVES. 

"  'Tis  a  joy  to  sing  in  the  sunshine, 

I'm  nearer  heaven's  own  blue 
Than  you  in  your  straw-thatched  cottage 
Down  in  the  hedge-row  dew. 
You've  a  cozy  nest! 
But  mine  is  far  best! 
I'm  sure  you  must  own  this  true." 

The  hammock  was  rilled  with  music, 

The  oriole's  joy  unfeigned, 
And  brown  thrush  learned  a  lesson, 
And  this  was  the  wisdom  gained: 
"God  loveth  best" 
No  form  of  nest. 
Contentment  and  love  He  claimed. 

And  whether  in  cottage  or  castle, 

If  duty  be  cheerfully  done,  • 

Happiness  follows  the  doer 
And  blessedness  nobly  won. 
So  the  heart  finds  rest! 
For  God  knoweth  best! 
If  we  need  the  shadows  or  sun. 


NIGHT. 

THROUGH  the  drifting  darkness,  falleth 
The  deep  hush  of  eventide, 

Close  beside  me,  in  the  shadows, 
Phantoms  pale  around  me  glide. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  81 

In  the  west  the  clouds,  storm-laden, 

Hide  the  evening  star's  pure  light, 
And  the  trumpet-wind  clangs  fiercely, 

Herald  of  a  stormy  night. 

Deepest  gloom  and  ice-cold  sorrow 

Cl  ng  to  all  that  erst  were  dear, 
And  the  path  once  bright  with  flowers, 

Now  is  dark  with  cypress  drear. 


ANSWER  YOUR  OWN  PRAYERS. 

A  RICH  man  knelt  in  the  morning  gray, 
Knelt  with  his  wife  and  child  to  pray; 
Forgetting  the  heathen  near  at  hand, 
He  prayed  for  those  in  a  foreign  land : 
"  Let  the  voice  of  the  scorner  be  heard  no  more — 
Thresh  thy  wheat,  O,  Lord,  on  the  Gospel  floor. 

Break  every  idol,  bow  every  knee, 

Let  worship  arise  alone  to  thee! 

Let  those  who  go  down  to  Ganges'  tide 

Be  buried  with  Thee,  the  crucified; 

Let  thy  standard  wave  o'er  India's  sand, 

And  thy  temples  be  builded  where  idols  stand. 

Let  the  cross  arise  and  the  crescent  wane, 
And  the  Mussulmen  learn  Thy  holy  name; 
On  the  mountain  tops  let  the  Geber's  fire, 
In  the  light  of  Thy  truth  fade  and  expire; 
Let  sinners  seek  the  open  door, 
And  error  sink  to  rise  no  more. 


83  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Lord,  bless  thy  servant  waiting  here, 
Wipe  from  all  faces  the  falling  tear, 
Clothe  the  naked  and  feed  the  poor, 
Send  Thy  promise  from  shore  to  shore; 
All  our  short  comings  we  would  confess, 
Lord,  hear  our  prayer,  and  hearing  bless." 

The  rich  man  rose  from  his  morning  prayer, 

And  sipped  his  Mocha  from  China  rare; 

The  glowing  coal  gave  a  summer  heat, 

The  carpet  was  soft  'neath  his  slippered  feet; 

His  wife  in  richest  of  robes  was  dressed — 

In  "  basket  and  store  "  was  the  rich  man  blest. 


Across  the  way,  feeble  and  old, 
A  widow  toiled  in  her  garret  cold; 
This  morn  her  child  with  hunger  wept; 
No  smoke  up  her  fireless  chimney  crept: 
"  Surely  the  rich  man  would  find  it  joy 
To  give  me  food  for  my  starving  boy." 

Solftly  she  entered  and  stood  by  his  chair, 
But  shrank  as  she  saw  his  frowning  stare  : 
"  Only  a  crust,  '  was  her  humble  cry, 
"  Or  my  boy  in  his  garret-home  must  die; 
A  crust,  and  one  little  stick  to  warm 
Once  more  his  cold  and  shivering  form. 

In  your  many  barns  are  stores  of  grain, 

Your  cattle  are  countless  on  hill  and  plain, 

Your  ships  at  sea  bear  precious  store, 

And  your  coffers  with  gold  are  running  o'er; 

Iron  and  coal  in  your  mines  abound, 

And  wealth  flows  up  from  the  yielding  ground." 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  83 

"  Enough!  "  he  cried,  "I  have  naught  to  givel 
No  beggar  even  deserves  to  live!  " 

"  Such  mercy  as  you've  shown,"  she  said, 

"  God  send  again  upon  your  head!  " 
And  faint  with  hunger  she  turned  away, 
Too  sad  for  tears,  and  too  weak  to  pray. 

"  Would  it  make  you  poor  to  give  her  bread?  " 

The  thoughtful  child  of  the  rich  man  said. 
"  Is  that  why  you  prayed  for  Christ  to  come 

So  far  away  from  his  starry  home? 

Will  he  bring  that  woman  a  crust  to  eat, 

And  shoes  for  her  cold  and  naked  feet? 

I'm  sure  our  teacher  at  Sunday-school 
Told  us  to  follow  the  golden  rule; 
And  riches,  she  said,  were  lent,  not  given, 
And  charity,  sweet,  was  the  road  to  heaven — 
Do  you  think  that  Jesus  will  come  to-day 
To  feed  those  people  across  the  way?  " 
#  *  *  * 

O,  the  wisdom  that  falls  from  the  lips  of  a  child! 

'Tis  the  Spirit's  teachings  all  undefiled, 

For  their  souls  have  so  lately  'scaped  from  heaven, 

That  they  bear  the  imprint  by  angels  given; 

Only  years  of  contact  with  sordid  earth 

Can  blot  out  the  Christness  God  gives  at  birth. 

*  *  *  * 

For  a  moment  the  rich  man  hung  his  head 
Abashed,  before  his  child,  then  said : 
"  To-day  is  Christmas,  peace  and  good  will 
Should  fill  each  he.irt,  do  as  you  will, 
My  child,  with  my  store  of  yellow  gold 
Give  to  the  suffering,  the  poor,  the  old." 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

"  Papa,  do  you  mean  on  this  Christmas  day, 
To  answer  the  prayer  God  heard  you  say?  " 
Then  this  thought  crept  into  the  rich  man's  brain; 

"  Prayer  without  works  is  worse  than  vain!  " 
Now  a  song  goes  up  from  the  angel  band — 

"  See,  his  works  with  his  prayers  go  hand  in  hand."1 


OUR  LESSON. 

THE  Master  dwelt  in  Nazareth, 

And  wrought  with  patient  hand, 
The  daily  tasks  that  Joseph  gave, 

Obeying  each  command; 
Teaching  the  lesson,  by  his  life, 

Which  he  would  have  us  lear«, 
That  there  is  work  for  us  to  do 

Whichever  way  we  turn. 

And,  "floating  down  the  stream  of  time," 

His  voice  falls  soft  and  clear; 
Hark!  you  can  catch  the  loving  tone, 

If  you  but  pause  to  hear, 
Take  up  your  cross  and  foil 'oiv  me  !  " 

Ah!  heavy  task  and  drear! 
But,  lo!   His  love  hath  made  it  light, 

Behold!   the  skies  grow  clear. 

No  mortal,  born,  can  ever  say: 

"  There  is  no  work  for  me!  " 
For  ignorance,  and  woe,  and  crime, 

On  every  side  we  see, 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  85 

Calling  upon  the  Christian  heart 

For  pity  and  for  prayer, 
For  loving  word  and  healing  touch, 

For  constant,  faithful  care. 

The  cup  of  water,  "in  His  name," 

Ah,  who  shall  dare  deny? 
The  warning  word,  the  loving  look, 

To  mortals  passing  by? 
We  have  no  promise  of  good  cheer, 

Save  that  which  labor  brings, 
The  sweetest  songs  in  all  the  earth, 

The  honest  toiler  sings. 

To  some  He  gives  an  humble  sphere, 

With  little  earthly  store, 
And  well  He  knows  their  many  cares, 

For  He  was  poor  before. 
And  others  are  beset  by  woes, 

And  never  ending  fears — 
His  heart  can  feel  their  every  grief — - 

"  He  was  a  man  of  tears." 

All  lives  must  have,  their  battle  field, 

Ere  Mecca  looms  in  sight; 
Across  all  skies  some  clouds  must  rise, 

All  days  must  have  their  night. 
But  in  the  darkness,  'mid  the  storm, 

If  we  but  do  our  best, 
Sweet  faith  will  bridge  the  gulf  that  lies 

Between  labor  and  rest. 


86  AUTUMN  LEAVES 


CHRISTMAS  HYMN. 

"  GLORY  to  God  and  peace  on  earth,'' 
Proclaimed  the  Savior's  hour  of  birth ; 
Glory  to  God,  He  reigns  on  high, 

"  Ruler  alone  of  earth  and  sky." 

"  Peace  be  to  man,"  this  peace  may  be 
Ours,  through  a  vast  eternity; 
Our  earthly  house,  by  slow  decay, 
May  fade  and  pass  from  earth  away. 

"  Glory  to  God,"  in  heavenly  lands, 
An  everlasting  mansion  stands, 
Where  the  pure  river's  ceaseless  flood 

"  Makes  glad  the  city  of  our  God." 
The  stars  that  sang  at  Jesus'  birth 
Still  circle  round  the  rolling  earth, 
Still  "sing  together  as  they  shine," 
Of  all  His  majesty  divine; 
Shall  mortal  lips  refuse  to  sing 
The  glory  of  this  risen  King, 
Or  tell  the  story  angels  told 
To  shepherds  in  the  days  of  old — 
The  story  of  that  love  divine 
Which  naught  can  fathom,  naught  confine? 
Through  death's  dark  and  shadowy  land, 
We  shall  climb  where  angels  stand, 
If  we  help  our  poorer  brother, 
Loving  God  and  one  another; 
Following  Christ,  the  meek  and  lowly — 
Live  as  he  lived,  pure  and  holy; 
Sing,  as  angels  sang  in  heaven : 

"  Lo,  the  Star  of  Bethlehem's  risen," 


A  UtUMN  LEA  VES.  87 

Sing,  as  sang  the  stars  of  night; 
"  Lo,  he  comes,  the  Lord  of  Light" — 

Shout  aloud  his  glorious  birth — 
"  Glory  to  God  and  peace  on  earth." 


SILENT  CONQUESTS. 

! i    ENCOMPASSED  by  sorrow,  beset  by  sin, 

Strong  foes  without  and  dark  fears  within^ 
Longing  for  rest,  yet  longing  in  vain, 
For  stretching  afar  is  a  desert  plain, 
And  our  tired  feet  must  cross  the  sand, 
To  reach  the  vales  of  the  Promised  Land. 

Life's  broken  arrows  unquivered  lie, 
And  joy  expires  with  a  long  drawn  sigh; 
Roses  must  fade,  and  thorns  alone 
Are  left  where  lately  but  beauty  shone, 
And  we  clasp  our  torn  and  bleeding  hands, 
Where  beneath  the  cross  pale  Duty  stands. 

There  are  dismal  swamps  where  the  scorpion  hides, 

And  dreary  forests  where  death  abides; 

There  are  rivers  to  ford  and  mountains  to  climb, 

In  the  noon-day  heat  of  the  summer  time, 

Before  we  can  walk  the  everglades 

Where  the  Lily  of  Sharon  never  fades. 

By  echoless  graves  we  pause  and  cry, 

But  the  moss-grown  hollows  give  no  reply; 

We  tread  frail  bridges  o'er  dizzy  heights, 


AUTUMN  LEAVES. 

Oft  led  astray  by  unsphered  lights, 
Ere  by  the  waveless  stream  we  stand, 
Dividing  time  from  the  timeless  land. 

We  must  grope  through  the  spectral  gloom  of  night, 
When  the  storm-cloud  hides  the  pale  star-light, 
While  the  tempests  break  on  the  rock-bound  shore, 
With  sullen  wail  and  angry  roar, 
Ere  we  gain  the  harbor  where  rainbows  smile 
O'er  the  calm,  sweet  waves  round  Eden's  Isle.  /- 


TO  A  FRIEND  ON  HER  THIRTY-FIFTH  BIRTH-DAY. 

"The  days  of  our  years  are  three  score  years  and  ten. 

You're  standing  on  the  mountain  height, 
Half-way  from  childhood's  morning  light, 
Half-way  from  death's  enshrouding  night, 
And  all  is  well. 

The  hopes  of  early  days  have  fled; 

False  lights  of  later  years  are  dead; 

By  Wisdom's  hand  you  now  are  led, 

And  all  is  well. 

The  flowers  you  gathered  on  the  way 
Have  withered  slowly  day  by  day; 
Their  beauty  was  too  frail  to  stay, 
Yet  all  is  well. 

For  fading  they  bequeathed  to  earth 
An  emblem  of  the  heavenly  birth, 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  89 

The  fragrance  of  undying  worth, 
And  all  is  well. 

Green  graves  like  mile-stones  mark  the  way 
To  show  where  you  have  paused  to  say : 
"  Thy  will  be  done,"  and  knelt  to  pray, 
Still  all  is  well. 

Sweet  Hope  has  led  you  by  the  hand, 
Her  mission  ends  as  here  you  stand; 
And  Faith  guides  toward  the  sunset  land, 
And  all  is  well. 

And  faithful  memory  onward  goes 
To  cheer  you  till  the  journey's  close; 
Forgiveness  scatters  all  your  foes, 
And  all  is  well. 

The  weary  toil  that  all  must  share, 
Man's  birthright  in  this  world  of  care, 
The  cross  which  every  soul  must  bear, 
You've  borne  full  well. 

Now  standing  on  this  mountain  height, 
Behold,  the  city  greets  your  sight; 
The  vale  below  is  filled  with  light, 
And  all  is  well. 

O,  soul !  beyond  this  mountain  crest, 
Behold  thy  home,  thy  place  of  rest, 
O,  land  of  Beulah!  bright  and  blest, 
Where  all  is  well. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 


MORNING  PRAYER. 

HEAVENLY  Father,  grant  thy  grace, 

That  we  may  all  subdue 
Every  sin  which  would  efface 

Heaven  and  Thee  from  view. 
Prayerfully,  may  we  forgive, 

Those  who  use  us  ill; 
And  if  waves  of  passion  rise, 

Bid  the  waves  be  still. 

Teach  us  to  pardon  all  our  foes, 

To  pardon  and  to  love; 
May  our  hearts  seek  only  Thee, 

And  the  rest  above ; 
Toil  on,  hope  on,  with  perfect  faith, 

Till  faith  is  lost  in  sight, 
Till  o'er  the  mountain-top  we  catch 

Heaven's  battlements  of  light. 


THE  OLD  AND  NEW  YEAR. 

AH,  New  Year,  do  you  bring  to-night 
Thornless  roses  and  undimmed  light? 
Will  your  ermine  mantle,  your  jewels  rare, 
With  their  brightness  blot  out  pain  and  care? 
Will  the  bloody  sword  of  sin  be  sheathed? 
Will  the  gates  of  hell  be  laurel-wreathed? 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  91 

O,  New-born  Year!  in  your  earthward  flight, 
Did  you  see  the  Old  Year  clothed  in  white? 
On  an  icy  bier  they  laid  his  form, 
And  bore  him  away  'mid  the  wintry  storm. 
Oh,  where  have  they  made  his  lonely  grave! 
It  is  hidden  deep  in  Oblivion's  cave? 

Listen !  the  pine  tree's  dreary  wail 
Mingles  and  blends  with  the  northern  gale; 
The  wolf's  a-cold  in  his  snow-bound  lair; 
The  owl  sits  glum  with  his  eyes  a-fire, 
While  I  search  in  vain  in  midnight's  gloom 
'Mong  shadows  weird  for  the  Old  Year's  tomb. 

The  skeleton  hands  of  "  Long  Ago  " 
Thrust  the  misspent  past,  with  its  bitter  woe, 
In  the  path  my  weary  feet  must  tread, 
And  I  hear  the  steps  of  the  sheeted  dead. 
Others  may  ring  their  joy-bells  clear, 
My  bells  must  toll  for  the  old,  dead  year. 


GOD  IS  OUR  REFUGE. 

'  Got)  is  our  refuge  and  strength,  a  very  present  help  in  trouble." — Psalm   xlvi. 

"  God  is  our  refuge,''  to  Him  we  will  fly 
When  the  dark  clouds  of  sorrow  are  gathering  nigh; 
When  tempests  of  anguish  about  us  shall  roll, 
He'll  scatter  the  darkness,  breathing  peace  to  the  soul. 


9 -2  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

His  love  is  around  us,  He'll  guard  us  from  harm; 
Wherever  we  wander,  we  shall  feel  His  strong  arm; 
With  garments  of  glory  He  covers  the  land, 
And  blesses  His  children  with  bountiful  hand. 

In  God  is  our  strength!  His  children  he'll  guide, 
And  keep  them  from  evil,  from  folly  and  pride; 
To  the  careless,  the  sinful  who  stray  from  His  fold, 
His  grace  is  abundant,  His  love  is  untold. 

"  His  wisdom  is  perfect,"  His  promises  sure; 
His  mercy,  unfathomed,  through  time  shall  endure; 
He  watches  His  children  with  tenderest  care, 
And  a  home  in  bright  mansions  His  hand  shall  prepare. 

"  Our  strength"  He  will  be;  He  taketh  our  hand 

To  lead  us  through  death  to  eternity's  land ; 
"  Though  the  earth  were  removed,  mountains  sunk  in  the  sea, 
"  He's  our  city  of  refuge,"  to  Him  we  will  flee. 


A  PRAYER  FOR  STRENGTH. 

I  DO  NOT  ask  for  rest,  but  strength   to  labor  on; 

I  do  not  ask  for  wages,  'till  the  day  of  toil  is  done; 

I  do  not  ask  for  sunlight,  but  power  to  meet  the  blast, 

And  the  Master's  hand  to  guide  me  when  skies  are  overcast. 

I  do  not  ask  for  wealth,  for  well  I  know,  dear  Lord, 

I  have  Thy  promise — "Daily  bread — "  as  written  in  Thy  Word; 

And  as  I  go  my  way  alone,  in  sorrow's  weary  night, 

When  all  earth's  stars  have  faded,  be  Thou  the  guiding  light. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  93 


I  do  not  ask  for  life !  but  O,  I  long  to  hear  

Thy  loving  whisper — "  Peace,  be  still,"  to  the  dark  waves  of  fear; 
Though  poverty  be  steeped  in  tears,  O,  make  me  strong  to  bear 
The  doom  of  woe  Thou  sendest  me,  nor  doubt  Thy  loving  care. 

If  I  must  tread  the  woeful  paths  of  dread  Mount  Calvary, 
To  reach  the  hallowed  shrine  where  dwells  alone,  Infinity; 
If  I  must  bear  to  watch  and  weep  amid  this  life's  unrest, 
O,  take  away  each  broken  reed  and  clasp  me  to  Thy  breast. 

If  from  the  harvest-fields  of  life  I'm  driven  forth  in  pain, 

If  I  must,  weeping  stand  and  wait,  while  others  reap  the  grain, 

Surely  a  cup  of  water  e'en  my  poor  trembling  hand 

Can  offer  to  the  toilers — the  weary — working  band. 

E'en  from  the  scantiest  table,  some  little  crumbs  may  fall, 
Which  will  feed  the  tiny  sparrow, — God's  love  is  over  all — 
When  pale  lips  murmur  blessings  for  charity  that's  given, 
Of  the  motives  of  the  giver,  a  record's  made  in  heaven. 

The  white  smoke,  from  the  altar  of  self-sacrifice,  will  shed 
A  fadeless  glow  along  the  way  that  weary  feet  must  tread; 
The  vines  by  martyrs  planted  the  purple  clusters  bear, 
And  flowers,  e'en  in  their  dying,  shed  fragrance  on  the  air. 

From  Marah's  bitter  waters  I  fain  would  turn  away, 
But  if  I  needs  must  drink  the  cup,  O,  strengthen  me,  I  prav! 
"  To  the  end  I  will  be  with  you!  "  precious  promise  in  our  pain, 
And  thus  the  two-fold  meaning  of  sorrow  is  made  plain. 

Earth's  children,  weeping  ever,  send  forth  a  ceaseless  moan, 
Yet  never,  in  their  sorrow,  do  they  agonize  alone : 
There  is  no  obscure  pathway  where  mortal  feet  may  tread, 
But  the  ever-reaching  sunlight  of  God's  smile  is  overhead. 


94  A  UTUMN  L  EA  VES. 


SPRING. 

SWEET  spring  has  kissed  the  field  and  wood, 

The  lilacs  are  in  bloom, 
The  dew  hides  in  the  violet's  heart, 

The  rose  breathes  sweet  perfume. 
The  blue-birds  chatter  in  the  trees, 

The  sparrow  in  the  hedge ; 
The  brook  is  playing  hide-and-seek, 

With  willow-wand  and  sedge. 

The  pink  has  caught  a  fairy's  heart, 

And  wears  it  on  her  breast, 
The  daffodil  and  buttercup, 

Are  gay  in  golden  vest. 
The  blushing  daisy  hides  her  head, 

Behind  her  glossy  leaves; 
And  close  beside,  the  spider  gray, 

His  web  of  laces  weaves. 

Like  flashing  gems,  the  orioles 
Swing  in  the  balsam  tree; 

The  morning  glory's  stainless  heart- 
Enfolds  the  humming-bee; 

The  trailing  myrtle's  starry  eyes 
Have  gazed  so  long  above, 

That  they  have  stolen  from  the  skies 
The  hue  that  angels  love. 

Spring,  with  her  thousand  miracles, 
Spring,  with  her  sweet-brier  face, 

Teaches  lessons  of  holy  trust, 
Teaches  lessons  of  grace. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  95 

Patient  she  waits,  when  March  winds  blow; 

Patient  through  April  showers; 
Through  tears  she  smiles  and  looks  above, 

For  heaven-promised  flowers. 


DOUBTING  CASTLE. 

LONG  ages  ago,  "Doubting-castle" 

Was  built  in  the  forest  so  drear; 
Sorrow  keeps  guard  at  the  portal ; 

The  warder  is  sable-robed  Fear. 

The  sunlight  of  faith  never  enters; 

Love  shudders,  and  hastens  away 
From  the  corridors  mystery- haunted, 

Where  the  spectres  of  past  ages  stray. 

The  cry  of  the  owl  and  the  bittern 
Is  heard  'mid  the  gloom  of  the  night, 

The  storm-phantoms  shriek  in  the  gloaming, 
Wh%re  Bigotry  hides  from  the  light. 

The  red  meteor  gleams  o'er  the  casement, 
Like  grave-lights  that  play  round  the  tomb; 

And  the  tapestry  hung  in  its  chambers 
Is  woven  in  sophistry's  loom. 

The  death-loving  spider  has  woven 

A  shroud,  o'er  each  fair  sculptered  face; 

And  dimmed  and  defaced  by  Time's  fingers, 
The  lines  once  by  artist-hand  traced. 


96  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Neither  sunlight,  nor  beauty,  nor  gladness, 
O'er  the  hearth-stone,  will  evermore  pass; 

Only  woe,  decked  in  hemlock  and  cypress, 
Peers,  skeleton-eyed,  through  the  glass. 


THEY  SAY. 

You  have  heard  of  the  raven,  "  Nevermore? 
That  croaked  to  Poe  of  his  lost  Lenore; 
There's  a  blacker  raven  across  the  wav, 
Croaking  forever,  "  They  say,  they  say." 

He  hides  his  head  from  the  sun's  pure  light, 
But  his  voice  rings  out  through  the  darksome  night- 
Let  all  who  hear  kneel  down  and  prav 
'Gainst  the  power  of  the  demon-bird,  "They  say." 

Where  falsehood  and  envy  crawl  and  creep, 
Like  poison  vines  in  dark  woods  deep, 
He  flits,  'mid  phantoms  chill  and  gray, 
Hoarsely  croaking,  "They  say,  they  say." 

His  sharp  claws  tear  the  bleeding  breast, 

He  drags  each  thought  from  ?ts  place  of  rest; 

The  smile  on  the  young  face  fades  away, 

As  this  dark  bird  shrieks,  "They  say,  they  say." 

Let  the  fair  bride  pause  in  the  lightsome  dance, 
And  the  lover  check  his  love-lit  glance, 
And  hide,  young  mother,  thy  babe  away 
From  the  mocking  fiend,  "They  say,  they  say.'* 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  97 

Christian,  thy  armor  may  be  bright, 

But  enter  not  the  unequal  fight — 

'Twill  be  rent  and  tarnished  in  any  fray 

You  may  have  with  the  loathsome  bird,  "They  say." 

There  is  no  weapon  of  earthly  mould, 
No  rest  save  the  grave's  deep  bosom  cold, 
'Gainst  the  bird  that  battens  on  human  prey 
The  demon  raven,  "They  say,  they  say." 


THE  SEA. 

"  O,  GLORIOUS  SEA!  O,  glorious  sea! 

'Thou  art  wondrous  fair  and  great  in  power;' 
On  rocky  shores  thy  wild  waves  beat, 

Round  islets  fair  thy  breakers  roam. 
No  man  may  traverse  the  trackless  path, 

That  thkes  thee  afar  to  thy  northern  home; 
Afar — where  an  icy  seal  is  set, 

Like  a  jeweled  crown  on  thy  death-cold  brow, 
Where  winter's  eternal  reign  begins, 

And  death  rides  aloft  on  each  vessel's  prow. 
Thou  singest  to  me  of  still  other  lands, 

Where  summer  is  queen  of  the  realm  of  flowers, 
Where  thy  waves  are  hushed  to  a  murmur  sweet, 

And  love  alone  fills  the  passing  hours. 
I  dream  of  those  whose  graves  are  made 

In  thy  wondrous  caverns  deep,  below — 
They  slumber  sweet  in  coral  halls — 

Lit  up  by  pearl's  pale  lambent  glow." 


98  AUTUMN  LEAVES. 


LOVE. 

"  LOVE  ye  one  another!  " 

Con  the  lesson  o'er 
Till  on  the  spirit's  altar, 
It  burns  forever  more. 

"  Love  ye  one  another!  " 

Bid  every  thought  depart, 
Which,  in  unguarded  speaking, 
Might  chill  and  wound  the  heart. 

Love's  the  only  passport. 

Across  the  rolling  flood, 
That  stretches  dark  and  cheerless 

Between  us  and  our  God. 

"Love  ye  one  another!  " 

'Twas  whispered  long  ago, 

By  One  who  came  to  show  us 

The  way  that  we  must  go. 

Divinely  born  and  uttered, 
These  words  from  God  on  high, 

Form  the  star-lit  ladder, 
We  climb  to  reach  the  sky. 

They're  the  "  Law  and  Prophet;  " 
They  make  the  "  Gospel  plan;  " 

They  shadow  forth  the  glory 
That  heaven  holds  for  man. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  99 

THE  DYING  YEAR. 

TOLL,  toll,  midnight  bells,  toll  for  the  year  that's  dying; 
Underneath  a  snowy  shroud  his  aged  form  is  lying; 

North-winds  wailing,  hemlock  trailing, 
Over  the  couch  of  the  year  that's  dying, 
Over  the  form  in  grave-clothes  lying. 

Toll,  toll,  midnight  bells,  King  Death  his  court  is  keeping; 
Another  year,  another  year  in  Time's  cold  vault  is  sleeping; 

North-winds  wailing,  moonbeams  paling 
Over  the  grave  of  the  cold  dead  year: 
Over  the  form  on  its  snowy  bier. 


VIOLETS. 

THE  precious  violets  wet  with  dew 
Of  modest  worth  are  emblems  true; 
They've  caught  the  color  of  the  skies, 
And  hold  it  in  their  sweet  blue  eyes; 
O,  learn  of  them  that  virtue  dwells 
In  lowly  homes  and  forest  dells. 


THE  ROSE. 

'Tis  SAID,  the  rose  was  ever  white, 
Until  in  Gethsemane,  at  night, 
The  Savior  bathed  the  flowers  in  blood 
From  drops  that  on  his  forehead  stood. 


AUTUMN  LEA  VES. 


THE  DOVE  AND  THE  CHERUB. 

A  CHERUB  on  a  summer's  day, 
From  heaven  had  wandered  far  away — 
A  tiny  cherub  bright  and  fair, 
With  azure  wings  and  golden  hair. 

He  sported  'mid  heaven's  cloud-lined  halls, 
And  danced  upon  the  waterfalls, 
Where  rainbow  spray  gave  back  the  light 
Like  flashing  diamonds  pure  and  bright; 

Then,  growing  weary,  sought  the  dell, 
And  creeping  in  a  lily-bell, 
In  peaceful  slumber  closed  his  eyes, 
And  wild  bees  hummed  his  lullabies. 

But  storm-clouds  dimmed  the  sun's  fair  light, 

The  cherub  woke  in  sore  affright, 

And  cried  aloud  in  wild  dismay: 

The  sunny  hours  in  idle  play 

Were  passed;  now  comes  the  hour  of  gloom — 

My  work  unfinished,  far  from  home 

I  wander,  lost,  nor  know  the  way, 

And  evening  brings  the  closing  day." 

Just  then  the  storm-cloud  opened  wide, 
A  snow-white  dove  flew  to  his  side 
Harnessed  with  bands  of  heavenly  light, 
And  pinions  quivering  for  flight. 

He  hailed  the  dove  with  rapture  wild, 
And  through  his  tears  looked  up  and  smiled; 
Then  hasted  toward  the  setting  sun, 
To  do  the  work  he'd  left  undone. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES. 

The  cherub's  mission  led  him  where 

A  wail  rose  on  the  evening  air, 

From  one  who  wept  above  a  bier — 

He  checked  his  flight  and  whispered  clear: 

"  Your  darling  rests — though  dark  the  gloom, 
Arise,  and  gaze  above  the  tomb!  " 
The  mourner  saw  the  white-winged  dove, 
And  heard  the  cherub's  voice  of  love; 
Her  heart  grew  calm,  she  hushed  her  fears, 
And  radiant  smiles  shone  through  her  tears. 

They  heard,  above  the  city's  din, 
The  sweet  notes  of  an  evening  hymn; 
A  saint's  glad  anthem,  loud  and  clear, 
The  cherub  paused  and  lingered  near. 

He  saw,  in  Azriel's  presence  chill, 
The  Christian's  form  grow  pale  and  still, 
But  caught  his  smile  of  faith  and  love — 
His  whispered,  "  There  is  rest  above." 

Once  more  he  paused;  this  time  to  win 
A  soul  from  paths  of  shame  and  sin; 
Then  passing  through  the  star-lit  night, 
Reached  heaven's  gates  of  pearly  white. 

Low  knelt  the  cherub  at  the  throne : 
"  Father,  this  truth  I  fain  would  own, 
True  happiness  is  only  found, 
In  all  the  universe  around, 
By  those  who  seek  to  do  thy  will, 
And  all  thy  great  commands  fulfill ; 
And  only  such  can  hope  for  rest 
In  the  bright  mansions  of  the  blest." 


102  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

The  dove  this  message  took  to  earth ; 
The  cherub,  child  of  heavenly  birth, 
Enrobed  in  light  and  seen  afar, 
Mortals  have  named,  "The  Evening  Star." 


MAY  AND  I. 

MAY  is  dressed  in  costly  raiment, 

In  fabrics  rich  and  rare, 
And  diamonds  are  on  her  lily  hands, 

And  pearls  in  her  raven  hair. 

Stately  artd  cold  she  passes, 

Drawing  her  robes  aside, 
Lest  she  touch  with  the  hem  of  her  garment, 

One  she  scorns  in  haughty  pride. 

My  hands  are  brown  with  toiling; 

My  garments  plain  and  old; 
Yet,  of  far  more  worth  are  my  treasures, 

Than  all  of  her  stores  of  gold. 

Gone,  her  father  and  mother; 

Gone,  brothers  and  sisters  —  all  — 
She,  alone,  in  her  icy  grandeur, 

Reigns  in  the  gloomy  hall. 

/have  a  darling  mother 

Asleep  in  her  easy  chair, 
Where  the  shimmering  fire-light  brightens 

The  waves  of  her  whitening  hair. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  103 

/  have  a  dear  old  father 

Who  shields  me  with  tender  love; 
On  earth  one  brother,  one  sister, 

And  loved  ones  waiting  above. 

She  in  her  lordly  castle 

Is  dwelling  unloved,  in  state; 
Thank  God,  for  the  lowly  cottage 

That  saveth  me  such  a  fate ! 

Would  7  have  her  gold  and  diamonds! 

Her  parks  and  the  ancient  hall, 
In  exchange  for  the  friends  I  cherish, 

And  the  love  that  is  over  all? 

Ah!  mine  are  the  truest  riches; 

For  Love,  the  Alchemist  rare, 
Turneth  all  ills  into  blessings, 

And  shieldeth  the  heart  from  care. 


THE  SECRET. 

THE  robin  just  told  her  lover, 

The  wind  caught  up  the  refrain, 
And  told  the  bee  in  the  clover, 

Who  whispered  it  once  and  again 
To  wildwood  and  garden  flower, 

To  the  heart's-ease  upon  the  lea, 
To  the  ivy  upon  the  tower 

Oi  the  castle  beside  the  sea. 


104  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Like  an  emerald  on  waves  white-crested 

An  ivy  leaf  floated  a\vav, 
And  neither  paused  nor  rested, 

Till  night  on  the  waters  lay. 
But  a  lily,  in  fragrant  dreainings, 

Asleep  in  the  sea's  embrace, 
Awoke  and  read  the  secret 

In  the  glance  of  his  beaming  face. 

Her  perfumed  prayers  uplifting, 

She  kissed  the  sea  of  blue, 
In  her  pure  glory  drifting, 

To  death  she  passed  from  view. 

But  the  mermaid  caught  the  glory 
That  glowed  in  her  raptured  eye, 

From  her  fainting  lips  the  story 
Which  made  her  joy  to  die. 
*  *  *  * 

Safe  hid  in  a  ruby  sea  cave,  a  star-fish  heard  the  tale; 

He  flashed  through  the  circling  waters,  nor  paused  for  the  wild 
est  gale; 

And  wherever  he  sailed,  like  lightning  the  story  flamed  and 
glowed, 

And  Neptune  listened  and  told  it,  in  the  gloom  of  his  dark 
abode. 

Then  Gnomes  sped  away  to  the  ice-land,  where  with  spears  and 

glit'ring  shields, 
They  traversed  the  crystal  desert  and  swept  o'er  the  snow  white 

fields, 
Till  they  reached  where  the  clouds  of  midnight, 

Touched  the  pole  with  Erebus-hands, 
Where  known  and  unknown  uniting 

In  the  rejion  of  mystery  stands. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  105 

The  clouds,  as  they  listened,  grew  darker,  till  a  flash  like  a  river 

of  light, 

Proclaimed  Aurora  borealis  the  Queen  of  the  northern  night; 
Then  her  "  army  with  banners  "  went  marching  down  the  fields 

of  unlimited  space, 

And  so,  in  that  aerial  journey  the  secret  was  carried — 
Was  carried  to  stars  and  planets, 

And  whispered  through  earth  and  air; 
It  flashed  in  the  summer  lightning, 

And  blushed  in  the  rosebud  fair. 

The  secret!  man  never  may  know  it, 

'Tis  a  wonderful,  wordless  song, 
Which  Nature  teaches  her  children ; 

To  her  realm  does  the  secret  belong. 
Perhaps  'tis  a  voice  of  thanksgiving 

To  Him  who  creates  by  His  word, 
A  voice  from  Eternity's  fountain, 

By  sin-deatened  mortals  unheard; 
We  know  only  this,  wordless  anthems, 

Through  Nature,  must  reach  Nature's  God. 


IDOL  WORSHIP. 

WE  pray  for  those  who  bend  the  knee 

To  idols,  in  a  far  off  land, 
Lament  their  darkened  distiny 

Who  dwell  where  Ganges  laves  the  strand, 
And  fain  would  scatter  Christian  light 
In  climes  o'erspread  by  heathen  night, 
Plant  semaphores  where  darkness  reigns — 
Where  superstition  winds  her  chains. 


106  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

We  pity  those  whose  children  fall 
A  prej  to  wild  beasts  in  their  lair, 

And  shudder  that  the  mother-love 
Gives  sacrifice  as  well  as  prayer; 

And  dreams  her  god  accepts  the  child 

She  places  in  the  jungle  wild, 

Or  sends  afloat  in  bamboo  bark, 

Cradled  upon  the  water  dark. 

We  know,  in  truth,  the  funeral  pyre 

Consumes  the  living  with  the  dead; 
In  pitying  tears  we  turn  aside, 

And  leave  the  pages  half  unread, 
Which  breathe  the  dark  and  murderous  tale 
Of  widows  burned  in  Siam's  vale, 
Or  buried  with  the  mouldering  dead, 
The  grave  their  last  sought  bridal  bed. 

We,  too,  are  idol  worshipers, 

While  gazing  'cross  the  Indian  Sea, 
And  there  are  heathen  dark  and  blind 

In  cultured,  proud  America. 
Yes,  there  are  Arabs  in  the  streets, 
And  Magdalenes  with  faltering  feet, 
That  wander  on  in  sin  and  night — 
What  hand  shall  lead  them  up  to  light? 

We  bow  to  Baal!  We  are  not  free! 

Alas,  we  share  the  Hindoo's  crime, 
And  join  with  idol  worshipers 

In  this  Bible-lighted  clime. 
Behold  the  red  light  o'er  the  wav, 
Where  men  their  souls  in  inadness  slay, 
Where  grape-crowned  Bacchus  throned  above 
Demands  their  hopes,  their  lives,  their  love. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  107 

Why  wonder,  then,  when  low  in  dust 

The  Brahman  to  his  idol  bows, 
Or  reverences  a  million  gods, 

And  pays  to  Vishnu  holy  vows, 
When  here  men  make  a  god  of  wine, 
And  mar  the  image  once  divine? 
The  Brahman  only  does  the  same 
To  idols  with  another  name. 

What  means  the  gambler's  phrenzied  eye, 

When  on  the  altar  reared  to  chance 
He  stakes  his  every  hope  of  heaven, 

Nor  gives  to  God  one  backward  glance? 
No  Brahman  yields  Jiis  idol  more 
Than  love,  and  life,  and  golden  store; 
No  fabled  god  by  Ganges  waves 
Lures  victims  on  to  darker  graves. 

Have  we  no  idols?     Watch  the  throng 

Who  gather  at  the  open  door, 
Where  Can-can  revels  on  the  boards, 

And  music  from  the  viols  pour. 
The  devotee  here  brings  his  gold 
In  summer's  heat  in  winter's  cold — 
Whatever  life  holds  pure  and  fair, 
He  smiling  gives  the  idol  there. 

No  idols!  when  the  greed  for  gold 
Makes  man  forget  his  brother's  weal, 

And  grasp  the  purse  with  Judas  hand, 
Willing  to  bribe,  or  cheat,  or  steal! 

The  promised  Truth,  to  make  men  free 

Must  in  all  men  a  brother  see — 

Must,  entering  into  heart  and  brain, 

Drive  out  self-love  and  love  of  gain, 


io8  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

And  feel  that  men  are  brothers  all, 

"  Fallen,  perhaps,  but  brothers  still," 
Needing  some  hand  to  lift  them  up, 

And  stay  their  feet  from  paths  of  ill. 
Are  we  from  idol  worship  free? 
Come,  gaze  upon  this  human  sea, 
That  moves  in  restless  waves  along 
The  streets,  where  fashion  rules  the  throngl 

"  Look  at  the  churches?  "  Ah,  I  see 

Where  sunlit  spires  reach  to  the  clouds, 
Where  silk-robed  worshipers  enthrong, 

Where  eloquence  holds  sway  o'er  crowds; 
But  'tis  not  gospel  truth  I  hear, 
From  lips  that  drink  of  fountains  clear, 
But  foamy  words  of  modern  school, 
Dipped  from  Tradition's  muddy  pool. 

The  churches!     Luxury  and  pride 
Opens  the  door  and  enters  there, 
While  poverty,  bowed  down  in  tears, 

May  find  no  place  to  kneel  in  prayer, 
In  these  vast  piles  of  granite  gray, 
Gorgeous  with  gold,  with  purple  gay; 
From  arch  to  aisle,  above,  around, 
No  room  for  humble  worth  is  found. 

And  do  not  we  who  know  the  Truth, 
Drift  idly  on  in  careless  ease, 

Giving  a   mite  of  time  or  gold, 
Striving  our  conscience  to  appease? 

Those  who  believe,  their  faith  should  prove; 

'Tis  not  enough  to  deal  out  love 

In  h  >mceopa  hie  doses  small, 

For  Jesus  died  alike  for  all. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  109 

A  wondrous  charge  the  Master  gave : 

"Disciples!  brethren!  feed  my  sheep  I" 

And  thrice  again,  "  Feed  thou  my  lambs!  " 
Then,  rouse  ye!  rouse  ye!  from  your  sleep, 

For,  lo!   the  lambs  have  wandered  far, 

With  neither  shelter,  food,  nor  care; 

The  fold,  unguarded,  falls  a  prey 

To  wolves  that  watch  for  those  that  stray. 

Let  those  who  listen,  ask  their  hearts 
How  much  of  Christ-life  they  possess? 

Lest  some  are  drunken  by  your  wine, 
Do  you  refuse  the  grape  to  press? 

Will  you  your  brother's  weakness  hold 

Above  the  tempter's  offered  gold, 

Lest  you  should  cause  your  brother  sin? 

For  drunkards  may  not  enter  in. 

And,  Christian  women,  do  you  pause 

Before  you  speak  the  word  of  blame, 
Lest  the  last  spark  of  hope  you  crush, 
And  wreck  a  soul  in  sin  and  shame? 
Remember!  only  those  may  cast 
A  stone  who,  in  their  whole  life  past, 
Have  kept  their  robes  spotless  and  white — 
E'en  they  should  pray:  "Lord,  give  me  light!'1'1 

For,  happen,  if  blind  pride  should  guide 
The  hand  which  holds  the  stone  of  wrath, 

The  zeal  which  would  thus  conquer  ill 
Might  worse  obstruct  another's  path, 

And  cause  a  soul  to  turn  away 

Who  else  had  found  the  better  way; 

And  woe  to  those  who  thus  offend 

The  weary  feet  that  might  ascend. 


1 10  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Whichever  way  we  turn  our  eyes, 

Work  for  the  Master  we  shall  find ; 
Diamonds  uncut,  marble  unhewn, 

A  healing  touch  for  eyes  now  blind; 
From  garden  beds  to  pluck  the  rue, 
And  plant  the  morning-glory  blue; 
Who  toils  for  man,  in  faith  sublime, 
Holds  consecrate  God's  holy  shrine. 

A  soul,  the  all  in  all  of  man, 

The  clinging  dross  of  earth  may  hide, 
But  who  shall  tell  the  worth  of  that 
For  which  the  Infinite  hath  died? 
The  farmer  does  not  plant  his  field 
Expecting  thorns  the  grape  to  yield, 
Nor  turn  the  furrow  and  then  sow 
The  thistle,  thinking  flowers  will  grow. 

Yet  to  this  lesson,  old  and  plain, 

Mankind  will  pay  but  little  heed, 
Or  in  the  mind  of  every  child, 

They'd  pause  to  sow  the  gospel  seed, 
Nor  leave  the  soil  to  careless  hands, 
Or  idle  winds,  or  drifting  sands, 
Or  wasting  passion's  typhoon  blight, 
Or  superstition's  gloomy  night. 

Dear  mothers,  count  your  jewels  o'er, 

And  keep  them  safe  from  falsehood's  ill, 
And  learn  of  Him  who  loveth  much, 

And  wait  upon  His  perfect  will; 
And  know  that  He  who  gave  will  ask, 
Their  safe  return  when  time  is  past; 
And,  mother,  think  your  labor  light 
If  you  but  save  the  diamond  bright. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

O,  Christian  preacher,  ponder  well, 

Whether  the  lesson  you  would  teach 
Is  one  to  make  life's  duties  plain, 

One  that  from  heart  to  heart  will  reach, 
Lest  traveling  in  the  car  of  thought, 
The  letters  on  the  fancy  wrought, 
With  touch  too  light  for  hearts  to  feel, 
Some  messenger  of  Doubt  may  steal. 

Oh,  if  my  weak  and  feeble  voice 

Could  sound  the  trumpet  of  alarm! 
My  hand  tear  off  the  blinding  mask 

Which  Vice  assumes  to  work  her  charm! 
If  those  who  walk  in  flowery  ways 
Could  on  the  hidden  serpent  gaze, 
They'd  turn  aside  in  wild  dismay, 
To  Duty's  mountain  steep  and  gray. 

But  while  we  love  our  native  shores, 

And  work  for  souls  with  purpose  true, 
Shall  we  forget  the  Island  band 

Who  stretch  their  longing  hands  in  view? 
Shall  missionaries  plead  in  vain 
For  pittance  of  our  golden  grain? 
Oh,  let  us  lift  our  banner  white, 
That  leads  them  up  to  gospel  light! 

We  know  that  'mid  life's  changing  scenes, 

Who  plants  the  smallest  seed  in  tears 
Shall  see  it  bloom  and  bear  its  fruit, 

Enriching  all  the  coming  years. 
God's  promises  before  us  rise, 
A  ladder  reaching  to  the  skies, 
And  he  who  sows  in  faith  sublime, 
Shall  gather  at  the  harvest  time. 


I  ia  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

And  if  alone  the  gleaner's  prize 

Is  left  where  many  hands  have  wrought; 
If  lonely-hearted  you  have  bound 

The  sheaves  that  others  left  unsought, 
Whether  you  gleaned  on  mount  or  plain, 
The  Lord  accepts  your  golden  grain  ; 
And  when  the  harvest  day  is  done, 
He'll  welcome  thee  to  "  harvest  home." 

Then  faithful  sow  and  faithful  reap, 
The  truth  He  gives  to  thee; 

Watered  by  blood  from  Calvary, 
This  Truth  shall  make  thee  free. 


JESUS  OF  NAZARETH. 

WHEN  Jesus,  in  the  wilderness, 

In  sore  temptation  prayed, 
The  angels  ministered  to  him 

And  Satan  fled  dismayed. 
He  taught  the  waiting  multitude, 

"As  he  sat  beside  the  sea," 
Among  the  humble  fishermen, 
On  the  shores  of  Galilee. 
But  of  all  his  loving  labors, 

There's  none  the  heart  so  thrills, 
As  when  he  blessed  the  children, 
Among  Judean  hills. 

To  all  the  people  he  proclaimed: 
"The  kingdom  is  at  hand;" 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  1 13 

Tempestuous  waves  and  winds  obeyed 

The  voice  of  his  command. 
God's  "  Great  Evangel  "  to  the  poor, 

Yet  poorer  still  than  they, 
He  broke  for  them  the  bread  of  life, 
He  knelt  with  them  to  pray. 
Yet  of  all  his  loving  labors, 

None  are  so  dear,  so  sweet, 
As  when  he  blessed  the  children, 
That  gathered  at  his  feet. 

To  blinded  eyes  he  gave  the  light 

Till  they  could  on  him  gaze, 
And  see  the  tender  pitying  love 

Which  glorified  his  face ; 
Forgave  the  sins  of  her  who  knelt 
And  washed  his  feet  with  tears; 
Met  icy  death  and  broke  his  bonds, 
Conquering  the  grave's  dark  fears. 
Yet  the  sweetest,  dearest  story, 

Where  all  have  priceless  charms, 
Is  when  he  blessed  the  children, 
As  he  took  them  in  his  arms. 

While  Martha  wept,  and  Mary  prayed, 

He  spake— their  pulses  thrill — 
"Come  forth!  "  and  lo,  their  brother,  dead, 

Obeyed  the  Master's  will. 
The  leper,  palsied,  lame  and  dumb, 

Touched  by  his  healing  hand, 
Acknowledged  him  their  Lord  and  King, 
Throughout  the  "  Holy  Land." 
But  of  all  his  loving  labors, 

There's  none  the  heart  so  thrills, 
As  when  he  blessed  the  children, 
Among  Judean  hills. 


j  14  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 


FAREWELL. 

FAREWELL,  Old  Year,  farewell! 

My  tears  fall  thick  and  fast, 
For  sadly  tolls  the  funeral  knell, 

O'er  joys  forever  past. 

My  graves  are  dark  and  deep, 
And  with  a  breaking  heart, 

My  vigils  I  must  sadly  keep, 
From  all  the  world  apart. 

The  sacred  flower  of  love 
Has  withered  at  thy  breath, 

And  Hope,  the  wandering  dove, 
Folded  her  wings  in  death. 

Friendship,  a-chill,  lies  low, 
With  blood-drops  on  her  breast; 

"  Faithless  " — for  such  I  know, 
Earth  holds  no  place  of  rest. 

Faith  sadly  weeps  with  me, 

O'er  broken  hopes  and  dreams, 

Whelmed  'neath  despair's  dark  sea, 
Where  grave-light  only  gleams. 

Farewell!  the  parting  hour 
Has  come  for  you  and  me ; 

I  take  life's  burdens  up  once  more, 
Though  dark  the  way  may  be. 

My  Father  sends  the  cross! 

"  He  doeth  all  things  well! ' 
As  gain  I'll  count  all  pain  and  loss; 

Farewell,  Old  Year,  farewell. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  1 15 


THE  DEATH  MARCH. 

KING  ALCOHOL  "  marches  with  giant  tread 

His  band  an  unnumbered  host, 
Over  mountain,  through  peaceful  vale, 
Wherever  he  pauses  goes  up  a  wail 

For  husbands  or  brothers  lost. 
» 
The  floods  o±  the  sea  can  ne'er  efface 

The  blood  from  the  path  they  tread; 
A  skeleton  pyramid  rises  high 
Where  the  countless  army  passes  by, 

Marching  on  to  the  realms  of  the  dead. 

All  vain  is  the  mother's  love-kiss  warm 

To  rescue  her  wayward  child, 
He  breaks  from  the  hold  of  her  clasping  hand, 

From  the  clinging  Ijve  of  the  household  band, 
Drowning  reason  in  frenzy  wild. 

The  power  of  the  strong  man  ebbs  away, 

His  pulses  beat  faint  and  low, 
He  heavily  draws  his  trembling  breath 
As  he  follows  the  standard-bearer,  Death, 

And  his  bounding  step  grows  slow. 

The  fire  is  quenched  on  the  cottage  hearth 

By  the  tyrant's  poisonous  breath; 
The  plow  of  the  farmer  idly  rusts, 
The  student's  books  are  dim  with  dust — 

They've  joined  the  march  of  death. 

Must  the  holiest  "  light"  the  Lord  hath  made, 
Like  the  flashing  meteor  die? 


i 16  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Must  fettered  souls  in  gloom  expire, 
To  build  the  ghastly  funeral  pyre, 
Which  is  blazing  to  the  sky? 

Alas!  for  mourners  who  watch  and  pray 

O'er  the  slain  on  this  field  of  blood, 
Or  over  the  prisoners  bound  in  chains, 
Or  held  in  dungeons  where  madness  reigns, 

Forgetful  of  home  or  God. 

I 
Alas  for  the  Nation!  Let  heaven's  bell  toll 

Over  youth  and  virtue  lost; 
Let  it  rouse  the  dreamers,  till  men  of  might, 
With  Hellenic  thunders,  shall  put  to  flight 

The  vanguard  of  Satan's  host. 


JUNE. 

SWEETEST  daughter  of  the  year, 
Sunny,  flower-wreathed  June  is  near; 
In  her  foot-prints,  wet  with  dew, 
Violets  spring,  with  eyes  of  blue. 
Tangled  song  of  wren  and  thrush 
Greet  us  from  the  lilac  bush, 
While  in  fragrance,  at  our  feet, 
Fall  the  apple  blossoms  sweet. 
Like  scattered  pearls  the  clover  bloom 
Encrowns  the  brow  of  smiling  June; 
Roses  in  her  hand  she  brings — 
In  the  hedge  the  robin  sings. 

The  dandelion's  curls  of  gold 
Are  mingled  in  a  mazy  fold, 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  117 

With  the  strawberry's  crimson  sheen, 
And  waving  grasses  cool  and  green. 
O'er  tiny  lake,  neath  cypress  tall, 
Sunlight  and  shadows  shifting  fall; 
Embosomed  on  the  water  deep, 
The  white-souled  lily  falls  asleep. 
From  mossy  glade  and  bosky  dell 
Steals  music,  like  a  fairy  bell 
In  joyous  notes,  the  feathered  throng 
Thanking  God  for  gift  of  song. 


THE  FISHERMAN  SONG. 

I  HAVE  wandered  since  the  dawning 

On  the  ocean's  wave-washed  shore — • 
In  my  heart  a  deathless  longing 

Must  dwell  forever  more ; 
For  where  the  wild  waves  glisten, 

They  kiss  my  darling  fair, 

My  lost  love,  Madeline,  with  wavy,  golden  hair. 
She  is  sleeping,  ever  sleeping, 

Dreamless  and  fair, 
My  lost  bride,  Madeline, 
With  wavy,  golden  hair. 

I  watch  the  tempests  gather 

Across  the  darkening  skv, 
The  wild  winds,  like  a  feather, 

Toss  white  waves  mountain  high; 
But  the  lightning's  quivering  flashes 

Can  not  wake  my  darling  fair, 


1 18  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

My  lost  love,  Madeline,  with  wavy,  golden  hair. 
She  is  sleeping,  ever  sleeping, 

'Mid  pearls  so  rare, 
My  long  lost  Madeline, 

With  wavy,  golden  hair. 

Heart-broken,  sad  and  weary, 

I  linger  on  the  shore, 
And  list  the  waves  so  dreary 

Murmur,  "  forever  more 
We  hold  within  our  keeping 
Your  jewel,  pure  and  rare, 

Your  lost  bride,  Madeline,  with  wavy,  golden  hair. 
In  her  ocean-bed  she's  sleeping 

Free  from  earth's  care, 
Your  lost  bride,  Madeline, 
With  wavy,  golden  hair." 


THE  OCEAN. 

They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  that  do  business  in  great  waters,  these 
see  the  works  of  the  Lord,  and  his  wonders  in  the  deep.     Psalm  cvii:  23,  24. 

THE  white  winged  ship  obeys  the  helm, 

And  cleaves  the  sea  in  twain, 
While  the  sailor  reads  the  starry  scroll 

That  makes  his  pathway  plain; 
As  the  prophet  read  the  tyrant's  fall 

In  letters  of  burning  light, 
The  lonely  mariner  on  the  deep 

Thus  guides  his  bark  aright. 


AtfTUMN  LEAVES. 

Where  coral-workers  rear  their  towers, 

And  build  their  ophal  caves, 
The  wrecks  of  centuries  mouldering  lie, 

Deep  in  the  unfathomed  waves. 
While  foam-crowned  breakers  requiems  sing 

For  those  in  ocean-bed, 
Asleep,  'till  the  Master's  voice  shall  call 

To  the  sea:  "  Give  up  thy  dead." 

The  northern  lights,  the  whirlpool's  roar, 

The  tempest  in  its  might, 
The  sea-fires  shining  'cross  the  waves 

When  storm  kings  rule  the  night — 
The  icebergs  floating  mountain  high, 

The  snow  clouds  darkling  frown, 
Bespeak  God's  power,  to  puny  men 

Who  to  the  deep  go  down. 

To  those  who  walk  Time's  phantom  shores, 

Filled  with  life's  sad  unrest, 
Watching  for  ships  that  never  come 

From  "Islands  of  the  Blest," 
Faith  points  to  sun-crowned  mountain  heights 

Across  the  valley  chill, 
While  to  our  fears,  as  to  the  waves, 

Christ  whispers:  "  Peace,  be  still!  " 


120  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 


OVERSHADOWED. 

Is  THY  way  with  thorns  thick  sown? 
Are  thy  flowers  with  weeds  o'ergrown? 
Do  the  clouds  which  o'er  thee  rise, 
Hide  the  blue  of  summer  skies? 
Have  friends  you  trusted  turned  aside, 
Filled  with  scorn,  distrust  or  pride? 

Have  the  years  left  bitter  trace 
Of  pain  and  sorrow  on  thy  face? 
Has  thy  hair's  once  sunny  glow 
Turned  to  flecks  of  winter  snow? 
Have  the  eyes  which  once  were  bright 
Lost  in  tears  their  happy  light? 

Where  music  once  the  hearth-stone  blessed, 

Do  the  harp-strings  silent  rest? 

Do  the  buds  of  promise  lie 

Withered  beneath  a  storm-wracked  sky?  . 

From  the  chill  of  wintry  day 

Have  the  song-birds  fled  away? 

Do  the  waves  of  anguish  roll, 
"Tempest-tossed"  across  thy  soul? 
Has  time  stretched  his  fateful  hand 
And  scattered  wide  thy  household  band? 
Does  the  grave's  dark  chambers  hide 
All  that  made  life's  joy  and  pride? 

Is  there  not  one  ray  of  light 

To  pierce  the  darkness  of  thy  night? 

Is  there  not  a  silver  bow, 

Rich  with  Truth's  effulgent  glow? 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  121 

Is  there  no  tracery  of  gold, 

Lining  the  black  cloud's  deepest  fold? 

Will  He  who  heeds  the  sparrow's  fall, 
Refuse  His  children  when  they  call? 
Lift  up  your  eyes  and  catch  the  gleam, 
Of  Bethlehem's  Star  across  the  stream. 
God's  love  creates  a  ladder  bright, 
Which  spans  the  gloom  of  death  and  night. 

And  though  below,  the  surges  roll, 

The  Savior's  voice  the  waves  control; 

Lay  at  His  feet  your  stubborn  will 

And  hear  Him  whisper :   "  Peace,  be  still !  '' 

While  love  and  mercy  bending  down, 

Place  on  your  brow  a  star  gemmed  crown.  „ 


THE  LAND  OF  BEAUTY. 

THERE'S  beauty  in  the  sunshine 

That  gilds  with  radiant  light, 
The  clover-blooming  meadows, 

And  mountain's  lofty  height; 
That  braids  with  gold,  the  willow, 

And  kisses  into  birth 
The  flowers  of  vale  and  hillside, 

To  wreathe  the  waiting  earth. 

There's  beauty  in  the  moonbeam, 
That  floats  on  silver  wing, 

To  wake  the  dreaming  lilies 
With  promises  of  spring— 


123  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

In  rivers  hastening,  ever, 
To  meet  the  waiting  sea, 

Catching  the  rainbow's  colors, 
From  sky,  and  flower  and  tree. 

With  joy  the  thrush  and  blue-bird 

Sound  through  the  forest  aisle 
Their  sweet  songs  of  thanksgiving, 

While  bud  and  blossom  smile; 
And  all  the  groves  are  stirring 

To  wind-harp  anthems  free, 
And  Aspen  tassels  quiver 

With  the  wild  minstrelsy. 

The  hand  of  God,  with  beauty, 

Has  traced  His  great  design 
Upon  the  blushing  rose-leaf 

And  mountain  cliff  sublime; 
But  earth,  with  all  its  brightness, 

Grows  pale,  and  dim,  and  cold, 
Compared  with  heavenly  glory 

Shut  in  by  gates  of  gold. 


THE  SWALLOWS'  WELCOME. 

BRIGHT  little  swallows,  welcome  once  more, 
Your  long  winter  wanderings  safely  are  o'er: 
Flitting  so  fearlessly,  on  purple  wing, 
Sweet  to  our  hearts  is  the  promise  you  bring. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  123 

'Neath  the  low  eaves  your  cottage  you'll  find, 
Safe  where  you  placed  it,  untouched  by  the  wind; 
Its  portals  of  clay,  half  hidden  from  view, 
By  the  widespreading  arms  of  the  mossy  old  yew. 

Now  you're  darting  aloft  to  the  blue  of  the  skies, 
Beyond  the  fond  gazing  of  all  mortal  eyes, 
Then  gracefully  floating  from  cloud-land  afar, 
With  your  wings  all  a-quiver  and  eyes  like  a  star! 

If  like  thee,  forgetting  our  houses  of  clay, 
We  could  rise  'bove  the  clouds,  obscuring  our  way, 
And  gather  from  heaven  stores  of  patience  and  grace, 
We'd  nevermore  falter  at  life's  darkest  place. 

What  though  we  dwell  in  the  lowliest  cot, 
Scorned  by  proud  worldlings,  by  others  forgot; 
If  no  songs  of  rapture  our  voices  can  raise, 
Even  silence  is  sometimes  the  soul  of  all  praise. 

Ah,  bird  of  the  pilgrims,  with  faith  like  to  thine, 
We  can  make  of  our  earth-life  a  picture  sublime; 
For  the  end  of  all  wisdom  is  sweetest  content, 
W7hether  sunshine  or  clouds  on  our  pathway  are  sent. 


DECEMBER. 

DECEMBER — bitter  and  cold  and  drear, 
Is  weaving  a  shroud  for  the  dying  year; 
Weaving  a  shroud  of  the  snow-flakes  white, 
Weaving  alone  through  the  silent  night. 


134  A  UTUMN  LEA  VBS. 

Souls  in  smiling,  and  souls  in  tears, 
Have  watched  the  flight  of  the  passing  years; 
And  many  sin-stained,  a-tremble  with  fright, 
Would  stop  Time's  shuttle's  unceasing  flight. 

While  others  rejoice  that  the  weaver  gray, 
In  each  thread  of  the  warp  has  numbered  a  day — 
Each  thread  of  the  woof  a  good  deed  done — 
Life's  web  shows  fair  in  the  setting  sun. 

While  the  weaver  is  counting  each  passing  hour, 
The  bells  in  the  snow-wreathed,  ice-covered  tower 
Are  chiming  the  story  of  Him  whose  birth 
Brought  light  and  life  to  the  death-dark  earth. 

"My  heart  is  a-chill,"  the  weaver  cries, 
While  the  half-filled  shuttle  he  swiftly  plies; 

"  My  hour  approaches,  this  broken  thread 
Must  be  mended  by  other  hands  instead." 

His  voice  falls  faint  on  the  midnight  air; 
And  the  pearl-gemmed  shroud  so  pure  and  fair 
Covers  the  child  and  his  white-haired  sire, 
For  December  lies  dead  with  the  old  dead  year. 


RESTORED. 

THE  rain  is  drearily  falling, 

And  the  pine  trees'  restless  moan 

Makes  me  shiver  and  tremble, 
As  I  sit  by  the  hearth  alone. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  125 

Out  from  the  growing  shadows, 

March  spectres  to  and  fro, 
And  memory's  hall  is  crowded 

With  scenes  of  long  ago. 

First  the  form  of  my  lover— 

My  lover  now,  as  then — 
Who  sailed  away  in  the  sunlight, 

My  beautiful  Marmiden. 

The  bi-ave  old  ship  was  shattered 

And  lost  in  a  northern  gale; 
'Twas  just  such  a  storm  as  this  is, 

Just  so  did  the  pine  trees  wail. 

As  I  list  to  the  call  of  the  breakers, 

I  long  for  the  restful  sleep, 
Where  heart-pain  is  hushed  forever, 

In  eternity's  infinite  deep. 

I  dream,  and  my  dreams  are  of  heaven, 
For  I  meet  with  the  loved  ones  again, 

Bodies,  not  spirits,  are  fettered 
To  earth,  by  mortality's  chain. 

The  firelight  fades,  and  darkness 

Gathers  around  me,  sombre  and  chill, 

And  I  long  for  power,  like  the  Master, 
To  whisper:  "  Peace,  be  still;  " 

To  whisper  peace  to  the  ocean, 

Hoarse  beating  the  rock-ribbed  shore- 
To  whisper  peace  to  the  longing 
Of  my  sad  soul,  evermore. 


126  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Hark!  they  are  ringing  the  church  bells, 
They  tolled  them  a  year  to-night, 

For  the  loss  of  the  crew  and  captain, 
Of  the  good  ship,  Northern  Light. 

A  step!  'tis  the  step  of  my  lover— 
Not  dead!  thank  God!  the  sea, 

From  out  the  gloom  of  the  tempest, 
Has  given  him  back  to  me. 

The  rain  is  still  drearily  falling, 

In  the  pine  trees  the  winds  still  wail, 

But  my  sailor  is  sitting  beside  me, 
And  I  heed  not  the  fiercest  gale. 


THE  BLUE  BIRD. 

A  LITTLE  bird  with  a  bright  blue  coat, 

This  spring  came  chanting  his  musical  note! 

Like  silver  bells  the  changes  rang, 

And  soft  and  clear  was  the  song  he  sang; 

Beautiful  bird  with  azure  wing, 

First  and  fairest  prophet  of    spring. 

He  sang  of  the  golden  hours  of  May, 
Of  ferny  dells  where  shadows  play, 
Of  fragrant  lilies  bathed  in  dew, 
Of  budding  roses  and  violets  blue; 
He  sang,  unheeding  April  showers; 
He  sang  to  waken  the  dreaming  flowers. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  127 

He  sang  at  the  pearly  gates  of  day, 

While  shadows  crept  o'er  the  hills  away; 

The  echoing  music  softly  fell 

Like  childhood's  dream  of  a  fairy  bell; 

A  chorus  so  wild,  so  deep,  so  strong, 

That  space  o'erfiowed  with  the  wine  of  song. 

Naught  to  him  was  the  leafless  tree, 

Cheery,  and  brave  and  bright  was  he, 

And  the  purple  clouds  on  the  mountain  crest, 

Where  golden  arrows  of  sunrise  rest, 

Seemed  a  cathedral  grand  and  tall, 

With  the  granite  hills  for  tower  and  wall. 

And  the  birdling's  wild  and  wayward  song 
Grew  to  an  anthem  deep  and  strong, 
That  told  of  Love,  and  Hope  and  Heaven, 
And  the  peace  that  comes  to  the  sin-forgiven 
Who  catch  the  gleam  of  light  that  lies 
Beyond  the  gates  of  Paradise. 

Ah!  woodland  preacher,  such  hopes  you  wake, 

My  soul  its  bondage  longs  to  break; 

I  marvel  not  that  men  of  old 

Believed  all  music  God  controlled, 

Since  weary  years  fade  like  a  dream, 

And  faith  and  hope  are  life  supreme. 

"As  is  thy  day,  thy  strength  shall  be," 
Through  thy  sweet  song  God  speaks  to  me; 
In  wintry  hours  or  shades  of  night, 
With  heart  bowed  low  by  sorrow's  blight — 
What  brooks  the  pain  of  life's  short  way, 
Since  death  is  life's  unending  day! 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 


LITTLE  SUNBEAM. 

LITTLL  SUNBEAM,  darling  sunbeam, 
Flitting  through  this  world  of  care, 

Lighting  up  its  dreary  places, 
Till  it  seems  an  Eden  fair. 

Little  sunbeam,  darling  sunbeam, 
Prattling  gaily  through  the  day, 

Gathering  roses  from  the  bowers, 
Shaking  dew-drops  from  the  spray. 

Little  sunbeam,  darling  sunbeam, 
Sweeter  than  the  roses  are — 

Song  of  robin,  song  of  blue-bird, 
With  thy  notes  hath  no  compare! 

Little  sunbeam,  gentle  sunbeam, 

Christ  hath  blessed  thee,  joyous  child: 

Oh,  may  angels  guard  and  keep  thee 
Ever  sin-free,  undefiled! 


ONLY  TEARS  TO  GIVE. 

You  ASK  for  a  song — I  can  give  but  tears, 
Tears  for  the  loved  ones  gone  before — 
While  lonely  and  sad,  on  the  wind-swept  shore, 
I  wander  and  gaze  at  the  surging  tide, 
And  long  to  pass  to  the  other  side. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  1 29 

Ah,  a  wailing  song — and  the  tune  must  be 
Sad  as  the  moan  of  the  restless  sea 
When  the  cloud-king  rides  on  the  breakers'  foam, 
And  storm-beat  ships  o'er  the  waters  roam. 

You  ask  for  a  song — I  can  give  but  tears, 
For  all  I  hear  is  the  sexton's  bell, 
Ringing,  forever,  a  funeral  knell; 
And  the  preacher's  voice  :   "  Let  mourners  pray!  " 
<(  The  Lord  who  gave  hath  taken  away." 
The  oak  can  ne'er  return  to  the  vine, 
But  the  broken  tendrils  must  upward  climb 
Till  they  reach  the  throne — no  death  is  there, 
And  love — dear  love,  rich  fruit  shall  bear. 

You  ask  for  a  song — -I  can  give  but  tears, 
My  heart  is  faint  in  the  house  of  prayer, 
For  the  sight  of  a  crown  of  silver  hair, 
For  the  sound  of  a  voice,  forever  still, 
Which  could  touch  the  heart — the  pulses  thrill; 
Where  the  light  from  the  gothic  windows  falls, 
I  can  see  only  coffined  form  and  pall, 
And  the  song  in  silence  dies  away, 
And  shadows  darken  the  light  of  day. 

You  ask  for  a  song — I  can  give  but  tears. 
For  me  no  buds  can  ever  bloom, 
Save  the  asphodel  around  the  tomb. 
Earth  is  naught:   '-He.iven  is  home." 
To  sorrow  no  more;   no  more  to  roam. 
What  thought  so  sweet,  so  fraught  with  joy: 
"Sin  can  not  enter'' — no  pain  destroy! 
O!   days  fly  swift  on  the  wings  of  prayer, 
For  my  soul  would  haste  to  enter  there! 


I3o  AUTUMN  LEAVES. 


LOST  AND  SAVED. 

LOST,  a  fragment  of  beauty,  a  half-broken  rhyme, 
A  dream,  a  fair  flower,  a  moment  of  time, 
Opportunities  golden,  a  glimmer  of  fame, 
A  phantom  of  hope,  an  unuttered  name. 

Lost,  the  boat  that  was  launched  on  a  treacherous  stream, 
The  joyous  fulfillment  of  love's  hallowed  dream; 
The  light  of  a  home,  the  love  of  a  life; 
The  hope  which  upheld  when  sorrow  was  rife. 

Lost,  an  "undying"  promise,  the  bitter-sweet  leaf 
Of  the  record  of  hopes.     The  half-ripened  sheaf, 
Gathered  too  quickly,  'mid  darkness  and  fears, 
Hid  away  from  the  sunlight  and  baptized  with  tears. 

Saved,  the  hope  of  a  glory,  unshadowed  by  fear, 
The  light  of  a  morning  undimmed  by  a  tear; 
The  faith  that  looks  upward  to  God  as  a  friend, 
The  heaven  where  peacefulness  never  shall  end. 

Saved,  the  dream  of  a  city  where  loving  ones  wait 
'Till  angels  shall  open  the  "beautiful  gate" — 
While  we  cross  o'er  the  river  so  stormy  and  wide — 
Oh!  the  lilies  that  bloom  on  the  heaven-bright  side! 

Saved,  the  faith  in  the  Master  who  stood  by  the  sea, 
Calling  to  weary  ones:    "  Come  unto  me!" 
Calling  the  way-worn :   "  Come  and  be  blest; 
Lay  aside  all  that  cumbers  and  enter  thy  rest." 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  131 


MY  DREAM. 

I  DREAMED  I  roamed  the  halls  that  lie 
Beyond  night's  azure  conopy; 
I  neared  the  star-lit  dome  sublime, 
Where  cycling  suns  in  glory  shine. 
The  milky-way,  for  angel  feet, 
I  found  was  but  the  golden  street, 
And  humbly  there  I  paused  to  wait 
Where  the  pale  seraph  barred  the  gate. 

Beside  the  gate  a  gray  haired  man 
Waited  "  for  blessing  or  for  ban." 
Master,"  he  said,  "I  taught  the  way 
To  gain  the  realms  of  endless  day. 
No  mystic  rules,  no  man-made  creed, 
I  knew  could  reach  the  sinner's  need. 
With  zeal  I  preached  the  gospel  plan 
Revealed  by  Christ  to  fallen  man. 

I  loved  not  power  or  wealth  or  fame, 
My  all  was  hid  in  Jesus'  name; 
I  only  sought  for  Bible  light 
To  guide  me  through  the  grave's  dark  night. 
'  Christian  '  I  wrote  in  gleaming  gold 
Upon  our  banner's  sacred  fold. 
Up  the  same  path,  see  fearless  throngs, 
Bear  the  same  name,  sing  the  same  songs! 

While  gazing  on  this  scene,  I  stood, 
A  voice  (was  it  the  voice  of  God?) 
Proclaimed:  "  A  Christian  outside  waits, 
Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  pearly  gates; 


133  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Angels  through  Heaven  the  tidings  bear, 
A  new-born  star  night's  bro\v  shall  wear: 
Bring  robes  for  him,  bright  as  the  sun, 
And  bring  the  crown  his  faith  hath  won. 

He  bore  on  earth  a  heavy  cross, 
And  for  my  name  he  suffered  loss: 
He  clothed  the  naked,  fed  the  poor, 
For  sinners    op'ed  the  gospel  door; 
He  conquered  pride,  envy  and  sin, 
That  he  the  gate  might  enter  in. 
Behold,  the  Christian  seeketh  rest, 
And  finds  it  on  the  Savior's  breast." 

No  longer  weary,  faint,  and  lone, 
Our  brother  stood  before  the  throne, 
But  in  the  gardens  of  delight, 
With  loved  ones  dressed  in  pearly  white, 
Sang  the  new  song,  to  mortals  given, 
Who  through  great  sorrow  enter  heaven; 
Bewildering  bliss,  beyond  control, 
Touched  with  celestial  fire  his  soul. 

God  loved  the  world — He  gave  his  son 
Jesus,  "so  loved,"  the  deed  was  done; 
And  man's  redeemed  by  love  divine — 
In  heaven  love's  chain  all  hearts  entwine; 
And,  loving  God,  man  gains  the  prize, 
Eternal  life  beyond  the  skies; 
For  Love  is  God,  and  God  is  Love, 
And  Love  rules  in  the  courts  above, 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  133 


CHARITY. 

AT  YOUR  door  sweet  Charity's  knocking; 

Let  her  in,  and  the  angels  will  come 
And  cheer  you  with  heavenly  music 

On  your  march  to  your  heavenly  home. 

To  give  to  the  needy  is  blessed, 
To  labor  for  Christ  is  sublime, 

The  good  that  you  do  unto  others, 
Will  live  in  all  coming  time. 


IN  MEMORY 

Of  Sister  Mary  B.  Howells  of  Cincinnati,  Ohio,  one  of  the  most  loving,  faithfjl 
friends  God  ever  gave  me.  Her  life  was  the  perfectness  of  religious  thought,  and 
the  exemplification  of  all  the  virtues  of  Christianity. 

IT  is  not  long — not  l<5ng  ago — 
Since  I  clasped  her  hand  at  even-tide; 

Since,  with  bated  breath  and  kindling  eye, 
She  talked  of  the  golden  streets,  that  lie 
Beyond  the  clouds,  on  the  other  side 

Of  the  death-cold  stream,  whose  dreary  moan, 
En-chilled  our  hearts,  as  she  passed  alone 
Across  the  waves.     "Nay,  friends,  why  weep? 
'He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep!  '  " 


134  ^  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

It  is  not  long — not  long  ago — 
Since  the  voice  we  loved  was  hushed  for  aye, 
Since  the  thoughtful  brow  by  death  was  paled, 
The  violet  eyes  so  softly  veiled, 
And  the  lips  we  kissed  were  turned  to  clay! 
A  vision  of  memory,  sweetly  fair, 
Oft  kneels  with  me  at  the  evening  prayer, 

Whispering,  while  I  sad  vigils  keep: 
"He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep!  " 

It  is  not  long — not  long  ago — 
Since  she  calmly  sank  to  dreamless  rest, 
Now,  twining  ivy  and  eglentine; 
The  pale  sweet-brier  and  Cyprus  vine, 
Have  woven  a  wreath  upon  her  breast. 
Oft,  in  the  watchings  of  sorrow's  night, 
I  catch  a  gleam  of  her  robes  of  light, 
Or  list  her  voice  at  midnight  deep : 
"He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep!  " 

It  is  not  long — not  long  ago — 
Yet  the  elder  bloom,  milk  white  and  sweet, 
Kisses  the  marble  ;  and  roses  fair 
And  woodbine,  with  purple  jewels  rare, 
Twine  with  the  grasses  around  her  feet. 
While  for  us,  sad  years  must  come  and  go, 
'Tis  hers  the  joys  of  heaven  to  know. 

We  hear  across  the  silence  deep: 
"He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep!  " 

It  is  not  long — not  long  to  wait — 
'Till  lengthening  shadows  westward  fall, 
'Till  across  the  restless  waves  of  time, 
Will  fall  the  sound  of  the  death-bell's  chime, 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  135 

'Til  we'll  hear  the  waiting  boatman  call, 
And  find,  past  the  river's  sullen  flow, 
Friends  who  passed  o'er  not  long  ago — 

There  saddest  eyes  shall  cease  to  weep— 
"  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep  1  " 


THE  OUTCAST. 

SHE  GAZED  at  the  pitiless  sky, 

At  the  cold  and  barren  earth, 
At  the  hungry  river  rushing  by, 
And  in  deep  dispair  resolved  to  die, 

Cursing  her  hour  cf  birth. 
Her  soul  was  deeply  stained  by  crime — 
A  wreck  cast  up  from  the  city's  slime. 

Why  does  she  tremble  and  shrink 
At  the  ghastly  thought  of  death? 

Why  does  she  fear  Lethe's  cup  to  drink? 

Why  fear  in  oblivion's  arms  to  sink, 
If  this  life  is  but  a  breath? 

Does  the  spirit-germ  in  her  darkened  soul 

Revolt  at  death  as  man's  final  goal? 

Does  a  vision  of  childhood  hours 
Sweep  o'er  her  fevered  brain? 

A  dream  of  wildwood  bowers, 

Of  sunshine,  buds  and  flowers, 
Before  temptation  came? 

A  vision  of  home  and  its  bliss,  now  lost 

To  her  sin-sick  soul  so  tempest-tossed? 


136  A  UTUMN  LEA  V2S. 

The  bell  in  the  church-tower  gray, 

Within  whose  shadow  she  stands, 
Is  calling  believers  to  kneel  and  pray, 
While  the  "gate  of  hell  "  just  over  the  way 

Throws  its  red  light  across  the  sand 
To  where  the  river's  cold,  dark  wave 
The  hem  of  her  fouler  garment  laves. 

"If  I  should  kneel  with  the  rest  to  pray, 

I  wonder  if  God  would  hear? 
I  am  weary  of  sin's  unhallowed  sway — 
Will  no  one  teach  me  the  better  way?  " 

She  cried  in  her  doubt  and  fear; 
But  with  glances  of  hate  and  insolent  pride, 
By  the  pious  throng  she  was  thrust  aside. 

We  talk  of  "  this  gospel  day!  " 

We  call  this  a  Christian  land! 
Oh,  God!  when  a  sinner  to  Thee  would  pray, 
From  the  temple's  gate  she  is  turned  away 

Alone  in  the  street  to  stand. 
Wantonly,  wickedly  forced  from  the  light, 
Left  fainting  and  dizzy  in  darkness  and  night. 

And  when,  in  the  dreary  morn, 

With  white  lips  evermore  dumb, 
With  garments  ooze-dripping  and  torn, 
With  face  hunger-stamped  and  sin-worn, 

She's  dragged  from  the  river's  slum, 
Can  you,  from  vourbrow,  wash  the  mark  of  Cain? 
Can  you  call  from  earth's  depths  the  soul  you  have  slain? 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  137 


THE  ANGELS  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 

A  SWEET  May  breeze  from  the  South-land 

Whispered  a  wondrous  tale, 
And  the  sun,  from  his  golden  quiver, 

Sent  arrows  o'er  hill  and  dale. 

They  pierced  the  mist  of  the  morning, 
They  scattered  the  chill  of  night, 

And  filled  the  earth  with  a  glory 
That  dazzled  the  angels'  sight. 

Then  Modesty  called  up  her  violets, 

Fragrant,  and  dewy,  and  fair; 
And,  hiding  them  under  the  green  leaves, 

Watched  them  with  tenderest  care. 

Purity  scattered  white  lilies; 

Love  brought  her  roses  red; 
Peace,  with  her  wreath  of  laurel, 

Crowned  the  stern  mountain's  head. 

Charity  spread  her  green  mosses, 

Over  rocks  dreary  and  brown; 
While  Faith,  bending  over  the  snow-drop, 

Wrought  her  a  silvery  crown. 

Hope,  with  her  apple-blooms  fragrant, 
Gave  promise  of  harvests  to  come; 

While  the  blue-bird,  among  the  gay  branches, 
Was  building  his  little  thatch  home. 


1 38  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

But  fairer  than  roses  or  lilies, 

Were  the  maidens  who  gathered  the  flowers, 
Singing  the  beauties  of  May-day 

Under  the  leafy  bowers. 

And  fairest  of  all  the  fair  maidens 
Was  Annie  the  queen  of  the  day— 

As  she  sat  on  a  throne  in  the  sunlight, 
Wreathed  with  the  blossoms  of  May. 

Alas,  that  Time's  shadows  should  darken  I 
Alas,  that  Death's  powers  should  chill! 

May-day  they  crowned  her  with  roses, 
The  next — every  heart-beat  was  still! 

May  flowers  still  bloomed  in  the  woodland, 
The  sunlight  lay  fair  on  the  hill, 

But  beauty  of  bud  or  of  blossom 
No  more  her  pure  spirit  can  thrill. 

No  more?     Faith  whispers  a  story 
Of  flowers  that  ne'er  fade  away; 

Of  rivers  and  cities  of  glory, 
And  treasures  that  never  decay. 

Though  pale  as  a  bowed  broken  lily 
In  her  coffin  they  laid  her  away, 

A  tar  brighter  crown  she  is  wearing— 
Dear  Annie,  the  queen  of  the  May. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  139 


A  LEGEND. 

ROUND  a  ruined  tower,  cheerless  and  gray; 

The  ivy  clung ; 
In  the  belfry  old,  hung  a  rusty  bell, 

With  silent  tongue, 

And  the  trees  stood  round  like  friars  grim, 
While  the  mistletoe  crept  from  limb  to  limb. 

Around  the  garden  there  is  a  wall, 

The  wall  is  steep; 
Within  the  garden  there  is  a  well, 

The  well  is  deep ; 

Around,  above,  the  wild  wind  grieves, 
And  strews  the  ground  with  withered  leaves. 

No  mortal  in  the  moonlight  pale, 

E'er  lingers  there; 
Belated  travelers  hurry  by 

With  silent  prayer; 

For  the  legend  says:  "  One  dreary  night, 
In  the  lonely  well,  Truth  hid  from  sight." 

Mortals  are  more  afraid  of  Truth 

Than  sheeted  ghost; 
Their  claims  to  love  her  honest  face, 

An  idle  boast; 

For  the  whole  world  scorns  the  honest  poor, 
And  smiles  on  a  villain  with  golden  dower. 

You  ask  me  why  the  Truth  should  hide, 

Deep  in  the  well? 
Her  friends  are  few,  her  foes  great  power 


1 40  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

No  man  may  tell! 

When  Falsehood's  chariot  rattles  by, 
Few  know,  or  care,  where  Truth  may  lie. 

Perhaps,  when  ages  roll  away 
And  men  grow  wise, 

God's  Sun  will  light  that  garden  chill, 
And  Truth  may  rise; 

Then,  the  serpents,  Pride  and  Lust, 

Their  crested  heads  shall  trail  in  dust. 


THE  CITY. 

DESCRIBE  the  city!     Ah,  where  begin? 
With  its  palace-homes,  or  haunts'  of  sin? 
With  its  dingy  dens,  where  the  midnight  lamp 
Burns  pale  in  the  fetid  cellar  damp — 
Burns  pale,  while  age  and  childhood  creep 
Down  slimy  stairs  from  the  dreary  street. 

Shall  I  tell  of  prisoners  hidden,  where 

There  comes  no  breath  of  heaven's  pure  air? 

Of  youth  and  beauty. fallen  low, 

Of  steps  that  ever  downward  go, 

Till  angels,  weeping,  turn  aside 

Where  no  plank  bridges  the  loathesome  tide? 

Prisons  and  churches  are  builded  high, 

In  their  shadow  the  cringing  thief  shrinks  by; 

The  blood-red  light  aluring  shines 

Where  the  tempter  coils  in  the  sparkling  wines; 

And  the  ceaseless  "click"  of  ivory  balls 

On  the  gambler's  ear  like  music  falls. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  141 

Describe  the  city!     A  pen  of  fire, 
In  angel's  hand  that  would  never  tire, 
Would  fail  to  paint  the  ghastly  gloom 
Of  dark  crime-haunted  dens  of  doom, 
Where  rum-made  maniacs — eyes  aglare — 
With  oathb  pollute  the  midnight  air. 

Some  spend  the  night  in  dance  and  play, 
Others  by  death-beds,  kneeling,  pray. 
The  murderer,  with  stealthy  tread, 
In  darkness  hides  the  dagger  red; 
And  ever  restless,  weary  feet 
Wear  to  dust  the  stony  street. 

And  must  this  fearful  march  of  crime 
Go  ever  on  till  the  end  of  time? 
Forever  on  in  a  chaos  wild, 
Souls  sin-begotten  and  sin-defiled, 
Sowing  their  seed  of  hate  and  woe, 
Waiting  and  watching  to  see  it  grow? 

O !  for  a  love  that  would  reach  the  hearts 

Of  the  "Arabs"  who  throng  the  crowded  marts; 

For  a  voice  to  pierce  the  soul  of  those 

Who  deal  out  death  and  endless  woes — 

For  power  to  whisper:  "  Peace,  be  still," 

To  the  surging  tide  of  human  ill. 

Is  God  well  pleased  with  offered  gold 

While  the  love  he  claims  is  waxing  cold? 

Alas,  for  people;  alas,  for  priest! 

Where  are  "  Christ's  poor"  in  your  gospel  feasts? 

Have  you  whispered  to  lowly  sinners  :  "  Come 

And  find  in  the  '  union  '  hope  and  home?  " 


142  AUTUMN  LEAVES. 

In  pride  you  have  builded  your  temples  high, 

Reaching  the  blue  of  the  arching  sky. 

Will  fire  on  the  gilded  altar  burn, 

When  heaven's  commands  you  so  lightly  spurn? 

When  "forms  "  and  fashion  and  vain  display 

In  pulpit  and  pew  hold  ruthless  sway? 

Dare  Christians  talk  of  their  mission  bands, 
Laboring  in  far  and  foreign  lands, 
While  a  worse  than  heathen  darkness  bides, 
In  haunts  where  crime  its  foulness  hides, 
And  a  darker  than  Burman  darkness  rests, 
O'er  the  vaunted  cities  of  the  West?  " 


YOUTH  AND  AGE. 

LIST'  TO  the  music  o'er  the  way, 

Children  singing  at  their  play: 

"Around,  around, 

Our  king  is  found," 
Keeping  time  as  round  they  go, 
Cheeks  and  eyes  and  lips  a-glow. 

A  sad-eyed  woman  drawing  near, 
Half  smiles,  the  quaint  old  song  to  hear: 
"Around,  around, 

Our  king  is  found." 
Memory  restores  the  sunny  day, 
Of  happy  childhood's  careless  play. 

An  old  man  bent  with  three  score  years, 
In  his  dim  eyes,  feels  gathering  tears, 
Pausing  to  hear, 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  143 

The  distich  queer — 
O!  where  are  those  who  used  to  sing 
When  he  stood  in  the  whirling  ring? 

Alas!  of  all  that  happy  throng, 
He,  only,  found  the  journey  long. 

Full  many  a  mound, 

In  sacred  ground, 

Guarded  by  marble,  white  and  chill, 
In  few  brief  words  the  story  tell. 

Oh!  there  are  "trifles,  light  as  air," 
That  seem  to  blot  out  years  of  care, 

While  memory  pale, 

Uplifts  the  vail, 

And  we  behold  the  checkered  way 
Our  feet  have  pressed  since  childhood's  day. 

If  we  have  whispered  words  of  cheer 
To  other  weary  travelers  here: 

Sincere  in  heart, 

To  do  our  part, 

To  help  the  brotherhood  of  man, 
According  to  Christ's  loving  plan; 

If  we  have  loved  truth's  holy  ways — • 
If  we,  by  faith,  can  heavenward  gaze, 

We'll  say  good-bye, 

To  years  that  lie 

Like  milestones  'long  the  backward  way, 
Nor  long  for  childhood's  sunny  day. 


144  ^  UTUMN  LEA  VMS. 


THY  WAY. 

ON  TIME'S  solemn  shores  I  am  standing, 

Fair  Hope  has  taken  her  flight, 
The  flowers  in  Love's  garden  have  faded 

And  perished,  in  Pain's  bitter  night. 

My  path  is  by  Death  over-shadowed, 
Love's  hand-clasp  is  broken  in  twain, 

From  the  realms  of  the  dead,  for  one  whisper, 
Heart-sick  I  have  listened  in  vain. 

My  day  draws  near  to  its  closing, 
The  sands  in  the  glass  running  low— 

And  over  life's  hill-slope  the  twilight 
Grows  purple,  in  night's  afterglow. 

"No  night!  "  where  the  loved  one  is  straying, 
No  parting,  no  sorrow,  no  tears! 

No  shadow  in  all  the  bright  mornings 
That  make  up  eternity's  years  1 

O,  Savior!  in  doubt  and  in  darkness, 
In  the  hours  of  my  weakness  and  pain, 

Let  me  hold  to  thy  dear  hand,  believing 
Earth's  sorrows  are  never  in  vain! 

Let  me  follow  thy  feet  in  the  desert, 
Thy  way  through  the  valley  of  tears, 

Thy  path  up  the  steeps  of  the  mountain — 
Thy  love  over-arching  all  fears. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Speak  to  my  soul  'mid  the  shadows, 

From  my  pathway  all  sunshine  has  fled; 

As  I  pass  through  the  gloom  of  the  midnight 
Let  faith  light  the  stars  overhead. 


A  PRAYER. 

O,  SAVIOR,  watch  this  night  with  me! 

I  dare  not  watch  alone! 
For  pain's  dark  presence  veils  God's  face 

And  hides  the  heavenly  home! 
And  faith  grows  weak,  and  prayers  seem  vain, 

The  way  I  can  not  see, 
The  cross  is  heavy  and  I  faint; 

Dear  Savior,  strengthen  me! 

In  my  sad  heart's  Gethsemane, 

To  thee  alone  I  cry, 
For  withered  leaves,  and  faded  flowers, 

Along  my  pathway  lie — 
The  sport  of  every  idle  wind, 

Their  beauty  long  since  f!ed, 
And  voices  of  the  past  wail  out 

A  requiem  of  the  dead. 

Toll,  funeral  bells!   toll  for  dead  hopes, 

For  joys  too  sweet  to  last, 
For  sunny  skies,  which  gathering  clouds 

Too  quickly  overcast! 


146  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Dreams  of  ambition,  dreams  of  love, 
All  frail  and  earth-born  things, 

For  to  them  all,  since  mortals  sinned, 
The  curse  of  Eden  clings. 

Dear  Jesus,  I  would  walk  with  thee! 

I  can  not  walk  alone — 
The  earthly  path  that  I  must  tread, 

With  thorns  is  over-grown! 
The  clouds  are  thick  above  my  head, 

I  can  not  see  the  light, 
But  with  Thy  true  hand  leading  me, 

I  will  not  fear  the  night. 


WISHES. 
ADDRESSED  TO  MRS.  A.  R.  BENTON. 

IF  I  WERE  the  brightest  star  in  heaven, 
That  burns  on  the  brow  of  night, 

My  fairest  beam  should  fall  on  thee, 
And  make  thy  pathway  bright. 

If  I  were  the  fairest  of  roses  fair, 
I  would  give  my  sweetest  breath, 

Glad,  in  dying,  if  thy  pure  lips 
Caressed  me  e'en  in  death. 

If  I  were  a  "  charm  "  no  darkling  pain, 
Should  dim  thy  brightest  hour; 

Balm,  on  the  breeze  of  morn  should  come, 
With  its  breath  of  healing  power. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  147 

If  I  were  a  gem,  in  ocean's  cave, 

I  would  plead  with  the  restless  sea, 
That  from  the  voiceless,  trackless   depths, 

I  should  be  "wave  tossed"  to  thee. 

If  I  were  the  soul  of  music  sweet, 

I  would  sing  thee  a  song  divine, 
I  would  soothe  thy  soul  with  fairy  strains 

Pure  from  the  spirit's  shrine. 

If  I  were  the  spirit  of  hope, 

I  would  weave  a  spell  so  fair, 
That  thy  path  should  ever  be  as  blessed, 

As  "  the  paths  of  angels  are.  ' 

I  think,  were  angels  thy  face  to  see, 

To  heaven  they  would  quickly  fly 
To  ask  if  a  spirit,  glory  crowned, 

Had  wandered  from  the  sky. 


'TIS  HOME  WHERE  THE  HEART  IS. 

"  WHERE  is  thy  home?  "   I  asked  a  laughing  boy 

Who,  gladly  whistling,  roamed  the  breezy  hills; 
His  face  lit  up  with  looks  of  artless  joy: 
"  My  home?  'tis  where  my  own  dear  mother  dwells!  " 

"Where  is  thy  home?  "  I  asked  a  maiden  fair 
Who  watched  her  lover  join  the  warrior  band; 

"My  home,"  she  cried,  "is  where  young  Roderick  roams 
Upon  his  milk-white  charger — in  a  distant  land." 


>4s 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

"Where  is  thy  home?  "  I  asked  a  yeoman  strong, 
Who  swung  his  scythe  to  merry  roundelay: 

"  'Tis  where  my  children  and  their  mother  dwell ; 
Yon  cot,  o'er  which  the  sweet,  wild  roses  stray." 

"Where  is  thy  home?  O,  aged  Christian,  where, 
Amid  the  strife  and  toil  of  weary  years?  " 

"  My  home?  not  on  the  rocky  shores  of  time, 

But,  where  the  jasper  walls  and  golden  gates  appear." 


THE  WOODLAND  RIVER. 

I  WANDERED  in  the  shadowy  wood, 

When  April,  fair  and  wise, 
Kissed  the  arbutus'  dewy  lips 

Till  she  hlushed  in  shy  surprise. 
A  dreaming  fountain  lay  asleep, 

With  a  lily  on  her  breast, 
While  sheeny  willows,  bending  low, 

Guarded  her  place  of  rest. 

"O,  happy  fountain,  hid  secure 

Through  time's  unnumbered  years, 
Would,  I  thus  slept  in  nature's  armss 

Secure  from  life's  dark  fears." 
I  paused,  the  fountain's  silver  voice 

Murmured  this  solemn  thought: 
"  To  labor  is  the  better  creed ; 
By  pain  all  peace  is  bought." 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  149 

I  wandered  on,  a  tiny  brook 

Dancing,  joyous  and  free, 
Carried  unbought  beauty  and  life 

To  fern,  and  flower,  and  tree. 
But  ah,  tl.e  little  hill-side  stream 

Grew  broad,  and  deep,  and  grand, 
And  sweeping  down  the  jagged  rocks, 

Its  thunders  shook  the  land. 

For  lo,  earth's  rocky  fingers  failed 

To  hold  the  waters  rife; 
Dashing  the  white  spray  from  their  brow, 

They  shout :  "  Labor  is  life." 
And  thus,  O,  valley-stream,  I  learn 

God's  promises  abound, 
With  earnest  of  a  perfect  rest 

To  man,  when  labor-crowned. 


THE  YEAR'S  DIARY. 

THE  SOUTH  wind  whispers,  and  from  the  mold 
The  thousand  beauties  of  spring  unfold — 
Blue-eyed  violets,  daisies  fair, 
Wild  sweet-brier  and  maiden-hair. 

The  plow-boy,  whistling,  mocks  the  quail, 
And  the  children  launch  their  tiny  sail 
In  the  meadow  brook,  that  bears  away 
The  mimic  ship  to  the  distant  bay. 

Like  a  dream  of  hope,  the  spring-time  fades, 
And  mazy  summer  fills  the  glades; 


150  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

The  cricket  croons  his  drowsy  note, 
The  butterfly  plumes  his  gorgeous  coat. 

Amid  the  aisles  of  growing  corn, 
The  poppy  smiles  to  the  smiling  morn, 
And  the  gladsome  lark  sings  a  roundelay 
Amid  the  swathes  ol  new-mown  hay. 

Wild  and  exultant,  merry  and  glad, 
But  never  a  note  complaining  or  sad; 
And  the  farmer  sighs,  as  he  catches  the  air, 
"  If  I,  like  the  lark,  were  but  free  from  care." 

Then  he  turned  his  steps  where  the  meadow  hay, 
Fresh  in  its  dewy  sweetness  lay, 
And  murmured  the  while:  "The  set  of  sun 
Will  find  me  still  with  my  task  undone." 

But  summer  ended,  the  harvest  was  o'er, 
The  reaper  had  gathered  his  golden  store; 
The  song  of  the  cricket  is  hushed  and  still, 
And  brown  leaves  shiver  in  winds  a-chill. 

"Autumn  is  dying,"  the  north  wind  sighs; 

"  Autumn  is  dying,"  the  cold  earth  cries; 
And  my  heart  is  filled  with  a  sad  unrest, 
For  hopes  have  faded — I  loved  the  best. 

Farewell!  Old  Year;  you  have  digged  a  grave 
For  the  love  of  one  I'd  have  died  to  save; 
How,  then,  can  I  make  a  New  Year's  feast? 
And  who  shall  I  bid  as  a  New  Year's  guest? 

Hope  is  dead!  but  Faith  shall  be 
The  guest  that  I  bid  to  sup  with  me. 


A  tfTUMN  LEA  VES.  15 1 

God  sends  her — lest  I  go  astray; 

In  all  coming  days  she  shall  lead  the  way. 

God  giveth  us  all  another  year, 
To  sow  our  seed,  in  his  holy  fear. 
Farewell!  Old  Year;  duty's  the  goal 
That  henceforth  shall  gleam  before  my  soul. 

Though  weary  and  rough  the  mountain's  track, 
My  eyes  to  the  plain  shall  ne'er  turn  back; 
But  I'll  pray  for  strength  for  the  weary  way, 
Which  is  ushered  in  on  this  New  Year's  day. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  POETESS,  MARIE  R.  BUTLER. 

SHE  dwells  upon  a  holy  mount, 

From  mortals  set  apart, 
And  drinks  from  that  celestial  fount, 

Which  purifies  the  heart; 
She  joys  the  heavenly  seed  to  sow, 
Which  in  God's  field  shall  thrive  and  grow. 

The  angels  kissed  her  as  she  slept, 

Her  lips  were  sanctified ; 
*     They  o'er  her  heart  their  vigils  kept 

Till  song  was  glorified; 
Like  dews  of  Hermon  o'er  her  head, 
The  gifts  that  angels  bring  were  shed. 

No  vain,  no  idle  song  she  sings, 

Priestess  to  poesy's  shrine, 
The  bright,  pure  fancies  that  she  brings, 


AUTUMN  LEAVES. 

God's  Spirit  makes  divine. 
Her  words,  like  manna,  fall  to  bless 
The  wanderers  in  life's  wilderness. 

The  loathsome  serpents,  pride  and  sin, 
That  trail  beneath  the  leaves, 

From  her  pure  pen  no  tolerance  win — 
She  binds  no  mildewed  sheaves; 

Yet  her  broad,  loving  charity 

Is  deep  and  boundless  as  the  sea. 

She  sings  of  Christ,  our  thorn-crowned  King, 
Who  bowed  to  God's  behest, 

And  gathered  all  death's  bitter  pangs 
To  his  own  sinless  breast. 

The  tones  that  thrill  earth's  purple  skies, 

But  echo  Heaven's  grand  harmonies. 


POOR  FARMER  JOHN. 

OLD  FARMER  John  is  sore  perplexed — 
Nay,  farmer  John  is  really  vexed: 
He  labors  early,  labors  late, 
Yet  ever  talks  of  adverse  fate; 
For  all  his  toilings  scarce  suffice, 
Of  longed-for  lands  to  pay  the  price. 

The  summers  come,  the  summers  go, 

The  spring  showers  waste  the  winter's  snow 

The  while,  from  dawn  till  close  of  day, 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  1 53 

Receiving  naught  but  frowns  for  pay; 
His  good  wife  toils,  and  anxious  care 
Has  faded  lip  and  cheek  and  hair. 

Acres  on  acres  stretch  away 
Of  woodland,  corn,  of  wheat  and  hay; 
His  cattle  roam  o'er  many  a  hill, 
His  brooklet  turns  the  groaning  mill; 
Yet  still  he  sighs  and  longs  for  more, 
And  grumbles  e'er  that  he  is  poor. 

Four  sturdy  sons,  four  daughters  fair 
Claim  at  his  hands  a  father's  care. 
He  gave  them  labor  without  end, 
And  strove  their  souls,  like  his,  to  bend 
Into  the  narrow  groove  of  thought: 
Gold  to  be  earned,  land  to  be  bought.'9 

Yes,  farmer  John  is  growing  poor! 
You  feel  it  as  you  pass  his  door. 
His  old  brown  house  is  small  and  mean, 
The  roof  is  warped  by  crack  and  seam; 
The  leaning  bars,  the  half-hinged  door, 
Proclaim  old  John  is  -very  poor. 

No  books:  no  pictures  on  the  wall; 
Carpetless  rooms  and  dreary  hall. 
Why  think  it  strange  such  farmers'  boys 
Should  seek  the  city's  pomp  and  noise? 
Should  learn  to  loathe  the  sight  of  home, 
Where  naught  of  joy  or  grace  may  come? 

Why  think  it  strange  his  poor,  old  wife, 
Who  coined  for  him  her  very  life, 
Should  pause  at  last,  despite  his  frown, 


154  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

And  lay  her  weary  burden  down 

In  joy,  to  walk  the  streets  of  heaven? 

Where  naught  is  sold,  but  all  is  given? 

Go  where  you  will,  search  earth  around, 
The  poorest  man  that  can  be  found, 
Is  he  who  toils,  through  life,  to  gain 
Widest  extent  of  hill  and  plain; 
Forgetting  all  his  soul's  best  needs, 
In  counting  o'er  his  title-deeds. 


SUBMISSION. 

"THY  WILL  be  done!  "  thus  we  are  taught  to  pray 

By  lips  divine. 
"  Thy  will  be  done !  "     Ah,  can  we  always  say 

"  Thy  will,"  not  mine  ? 
'Mid  tears  and  loss  and  pain, 
When  all  the  past  seems  vain, 
And  death  the  greatest  gain, 
Can  we  still  say:  "Thy  will,  thine  alway?  " 

"Thy  will  be  done,"  with  Thee  I  would  abide. 

Cease,  burning  tears! 
"Thy  will  be  done!  "     Perish,  O,  heart  of  pride 

And  earth-born  fears! 
Soul,  still  thy  frantic  cries 
O'er  broken  human  ties; 
Though  hope  in  anguish  dies 
A  wiser  will  than  man's,  shall  be  my  guide. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  155 

"Thy  will  be  done!  "  I  whisper,  bending  low, 

"Thy  will,  not  mine!  " 
When  waves  of  pain,  my  sad  soul  overflow, 

The  Hand  divine 
Can  shield  from  sorrow's  dart — 
Can  heal  the  wounded  heart 
From  loved  ones  doomed  to  part: 
Thy  will,  Thine  only  would  I  know.  f 


GOD'S  PROMISE. 

WHILE  Autumn  mourns  her  falling  leaves, 
And  God  calls  for  his  ripened  sheaves; 
While  storms  are  beating  on  my  head, 
And  every  joy  of  earth  is  dead, 
Faith  whispers:  "This  is  promised  thee: 
'As  is  thy  day,  thy  strength  shall  be.'  " 

The  earth  mourns  a  lost  ray  of  light, 
But  radiant  spheres  have  grown  more  bright, 
The  key  of  Faith  has  opened  wide 
The  star-locked  gate  across  the  tide ; 
And  comes  from  thence  this  melody: 
"As  is  thy  day,  thy  strength  shall  be." 

"There  is  no  day  without  its  night;  " 
No  hope  but  feels  sorrow's  dread  blight. 
To  Death's  cold  sceptre  hearts  must  bow, 


156  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

And  withered  leaves  crown  every  brow; 
But  still  God's  promise  comes  to  me: 
"As  is  thy  day,  thy  strength  shall  be." 

When  fevered  heart-beats  waste  the  life, 
And  all  the  air  with  pain  is  rife; 
When  all  the  earth  can  yield  no  re  t, 
And  anguish  'bides  within  my  brenst, 
Comes  answer  to  my  a^ony : 
"As  is  thy  day,  thy  strength  shall  be." 

Ah!  those  who  up  the  mountain  climb 
With  bleeding  feet,  to  heights  sublime; 
Who  reach  the  home  beyond  the  stars, 
Whisper  back,  through  golden  bars: 
"Receive  God's  promise  trustingly: 
'As  is  thy  day,  thy  strength  shall  be.'  " 

Aged  and  helpless!  O,  my  soul! 
Before  thee  is  the  promised  goal, 
And  God-commissioned  Death  draws  near 
To  hush  all  heart-ache.     Dost  thou  fear? 
The  midnight  stars  whisper  to  thee  : 
"As  is  thy  day,  thy  strength  shall  be." 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  157 


DOES  HE  KNOW  ? 

/    DOES  He  know  the  weary  way? 
The  clouds  that  overcast  the  day? 
The  thorns  that  pierce  me  when  I  stray? 

Does  He  know  how  hard  the  fight? 
The  fears  which  the  lone  heart  afright? 
The  darkness  of  the  starless  night? 

Does  He  know,  when  sad  and  lorn, 
When  lost  each  earthly  hope,  we  mourn, 
Our  hearts  by  fearful  conflict  torn? 

Does  He  know,  how  fierce  and  wild 
The  tempest  beats  upon  His  child, 
Out-reaching  for  climes  undefiled? 

Does  He  know  the  toil  and  care? 

The  longing  cries,  the  ceaseless  prayer  ? 

For  strength  to  do  and  strength  to  bear? 

As  Hagar  found,  when  in  her  flight 
Abra'am's  white  tents  faded  from  sight, 
Her  darkest  hour  o'er-crowned  with  light, 

When  wandering  in  our  desert  drear, 
Bowed  down  with  anguish,  doubt  and  fear, 
Shall  we  too  find  our  angel  near? 

Will  He  our  load  of  weary  care 

Lift  from  our  hearts,  and  kindly  bear 

Whene'er  we  light  the  lamp  of  prayer? 


158  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

When  wrecked  upon  life's  raging  sea, 
Tossed  upon  breakers  "on  the  lee," 
Will  He  the  life-boat  send  to  me? 

Weak  and  trembling  with  afright, 
How  can  I  sail  where  all  is  night? 
How  can  I  find  the  beacon  light? 

Or  will  He  whisper,  soft  and  low, 
" Peace,'1'1  when  winds  too  fiercely  blow? 
When  o'er  me  deepest  waters  flow? 

Will  He  bid  the  waves  recede 

In  the  soul's  hour  of  darkest  need, 

Nor  "break  the  bruised  and  bending  reed?  " 

When  we  can  say:  "Thy  will  be  done!  " 
We  then  can  know  the  battle  won, 
And  peace  of  heaven  on  earth  begun. 

By  patient  doing,  glory's  won ! 

By  swift  hours  flitting,  life  is  done! 

By  faith's  hand-clasping,  heaven's  begun! 


HIDDEN  LIFE. 

Plant  the  seed  in  the  silent  earth, 
The  Master  will  give  it  a  glorious  birth; 
Mysterious  life's  in  the  casket  brown — 
A  royal  robe  and  a  golden  crown. 

And  soon  from  its  lowly  grave  'twill  rise, 
A  gift  from  the  garden  of  Paradise, 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  1 59 

With  lips  dew-laden,  wondrous  fair, 
A  child  of  the  sun,  a  bride  of  the  air. 

Are  ye  weary,  toiling  from  morn  till  night? 
A  blessing  will  follow,  but  do  the  right; 
There  is  no  harvest  for  idle  hands, 
No  grapes  where  thistle  or  brier  stands. 

No  lilies,  white  as  the  drifting  snow, 
In  bramble  thickets  will  bud  and  blow. 
The  lowly  pansy,  with  violet  eyes, 
Neglected,  weeps,  and  weeping  dies. 

Life's  dreariest  spot  may  yield  sweet  flowers, 
And  its  darkest  day  have  some  sunny  hours; 
But  only  the  toilers  will  see  the  sun, 
Or  gather  the  flowers  when  trie  day  is  done. 

There's  a  promise  on  every  hill-side  brown, 
When  Autumn  shall  shower  her  blessings  down; 
Then  plant  the  seed  and  prune  the  vine, 
For  the  harvest  is  sure,  in  God's  good  time. 


OUR  LIFE  DREAM. 

How  OFTEN  they  tell  us  'tis  only  a  dream— 

This  beautiful  life  of  ours — 
That,  floating  with  hope  down  the  amber-waved  stream, 

In  her  shallop,  'mid  fairy-like  flowers, 
We  shall  wake  by-and-by  on  a  tempest-tossed  sea, 

And  our  bark  will  be  shattered  and  torn; 


1 60  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

The  flower-banked  river  lie  far  at  our  lee, 

While  our  white  sails  are  drooping  and  lorn. 

» 

Life  is  not  a  dream — the  waves  may  be  wild, 

And  its  waters  well  nigh  overwhelm — 
The  tempest  of  old  obeyed  the  voice  mild, 

While  Faith,  with  her  hand  on  the  helm, 
Steered  through  the  black  midnight  of  old  Galilee; 

So  we,  with  one  Star  for  our  guide, 
Shall  conquer  the  sorrows  of  life's  stormy  sea, 

And  its  dangers  and  tempests  outride. 


A  HOME  ON  THE  OTHER  SIDE. 

I  HAD  launched  my  boat  on  a  stormy  sea, 

The  waves  were  rolling  high; 
The  roar  of  the  breakers  met  my  ear — 

And  dark  clouds  met  my  eye! 

Pain  was  the  pilot  that  steered  the  bark, 

Over  the  ocean  of  tears, 
And  I  heard  him  laugh  a  horrible  laugh, 

As  he  spoke  of  the  coming  years. 

We  are  steering  now  for  the  river  of  death, 

He  said  in  terrible  glee, 
And  the  demons  joined  their  mocking  laugh, 

With  the  roar  of  the  angry  sea. 

Faster  and  faster  the  boat  sailed  on; 
Near  was  the  rushing  tide 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  161 

That  severs  the  world  from  the  great  unknown, 
Which  lies  on  the  other  side.          • 

I  cried  in  my  agonizing  grief; 

I  prayed  for  strength  and  aid ; 
A  Star  arose  in  the  distant  East, 

And  its  beams  on  the  waters  played. 

I  am  sailing  still  towards  the  river  of  death, 

But  Bethlehem's  Star  is  my  guide 
To  a  life  of  duty — a  peaceful  death, 

And  a  home  on  the  other  side. 


A  TRIBUTE  OF  LOVE. 

ADDRESSED   TO    MRS.    S.    J.    PEARCE. 

ON  EARTH  thou  bearest  a  sacred  name, 
And  angels  to  thee  kindred  claim, 

And  guard  thy  onward  road. 
The  sick,  the  weary  and  oppressed, 
Find  in  thy  presence  peace  and  rest; 
And  nightly  prayers  for  thee  ascend, 
From  those  who  love  and  call  thee  friend, 

Remembering  thee  to  God. 

Thou  art  enshrined  by  truth  and  love; 
And  bounteous  blessings  from  above 

Are  scattered  round  thy  way. 
A  tvpe  of  heaven  thy  dwelling  place, 
An  angel-beauty  in  thy  face, 


i6a  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

So  soul-illumined;  and  thine  eye 
Ifes  caught  a  glory  from  on  high, 

To  light  life's  changeful  day. 

From  the  pure  altar  of  thy  home, 
Thy  loved  ones  never  long  to  roam, 

'Mid  life's  temptations  dark; 
For  over  all  its  lambent  skies 
Thou  art  the  sun  that  glorifies — 
The  sweet  o'er-mastering  influence  still, 
To  win  from  every  thought  of  ill, 

The  dove  of  thy  dear  ark. 

A  sacred  heritage  from  heaven, 
Thy  noble  mind  to  thee  was  given, 

A  lamp  to  bless  and  guide 
Those  who  in  bondage  sigh  and  moan, 
Those  who  in  darkness  walk  alone; 
Thy  charity  broad  as  the  skies, 
Kindles  a  name  that  never  dies, 

O'er-reaching  death's  cold  tide. 

Thou'st  long  since  reached  faith's  mountain  height, 
And  standing  there,  in  God's  pure  light, 

Heaven  is  not  far  from  thee ; 
And  sweet  Hope  whispers :   "  Yonder  blue 
But  hides  the  glorified  from  view — 
The  household  band — behold  they  wait 
For  thee  beside  the  star-gemmed  gate, 
'Near  to  the  Jasper  sea.'  " 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  163 


DEAD? 

You  CALL  him  dead?     He  has  gone  before, 
And,  waiting,  stands  by  the  open  door, 
With  a  star  on  his  brow  to  light  my  way, 
Lest,  the  path  grown  dark,  my  teet  should  stray. 

"His  voice  is  silent?"     Ah,  no!  a  prayer 
Is  borne  to  my  ears  on  the  midnight  air: 

"  She  is  lonely  now  in  a  weary  land; 
Guard  her,  dear  Lord,  that  her  feet  may  stand, 

Firm  on  the  Rock!  "     Ah!   light  and  life 
Must  e'er  be  born  of  clouds  and  strife; 
And  the  blood-stained  cross  of  Palestine, 
Saw  the  Son  of  Man  crowned  Lord  Divine. 

When  mists  arise  like  phantoms  gray, 
Faith  parts  the  veil  of  doubt  and  fear, 
And  we  see  the  "  Glory  of  the  Lord  " 
Shine  softly  out  through  the  midnight  drear. 

Grief's  ministry,  fast-falling  tears, 
Must  overshadow  the  coming  years; 
While  all  is  darkness,  above,  around, 
/  know  God  loveth  the  sorrow-crowned. 


1 64  A  UTUMN  LEA  VMS. 


SPIRIT  LONGINGS. 

ETERNITY'S  watchers!  bright  gleaming  stars! 

O,  make  me  a  ladder  of  light, 
That  from  these  low  valleys  of  sorrow  and  weeping, 

I  may  climb  to  your  infinite  height! 

O,  angels  of  glory!  throw  open  your  doors, 

Your  wondrous  songs  would  I  hear, 
As  they  float  down  through  ether,  from  regions  elysian, 

Where  dwelleth  no  shadow  or  fear! 

Spirit  of  Beauty!  in  letters  of  light, 

We  read  of  the  "glory  to  be," 
On  golden-crowned  mountains,  flower-wreathed  valleys 

And  the  unwritten  songs  of  the  sea. 

O,  Night!   let  me  hide  in  your  mantle's  dark  folds, 

For,  haply,  to  loved  ones  once  more, 
The  feet  of  the  ransomed,  through  pearl-gates  may  wander 

Back  from  eternity's  shore! 

Rainbow  of  Promise!  o'er  hilltops  of  gold, 
Let  my  feet,  from  these  lowlands  of  pain, 

Cross  over  your  bars  of  purple  and  azure, 
To  the  fount  on  the  evergreen  plain! 

Dreams  of  the  night  time!  O,  whisper  to  me, 
Of  the  rapturous  joy  of  that  home, 
Where,  deathless,  they  dwell  in  mansions  of  glory, 
Who  from  earth's  pathways  have  gone ! 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  165 

Winds  of  the  morning!   O,  bear  me  away, 

For,  see  the  pearl-gates  half  unfold, 
While  I  kneel  in  the  dawn,  and  gaze  through  the  portal 

On  the  loved  ones  now  safe  in  the  fold! 

Voice  of  the  Past!  only  tears  canst  thou  give, 

And  regrets  for  the  day  that  is  done! 
But  thy  skeleton  fingers!   O,  Time,  are  still  pointing 

To  battle-fields  yet  to  be  wonl 


THE  WOMAN'S  WAR. 

"A  WAR  to  be  remembered" 

Falls  from  a  poet's  pen 
Remembered!     Yes!  while  ages 
Roll  o'er  the  works  of  men. 

"Down  with  the  tyrant  Alcohol!  " 

And  legions  of  the  strong, 

Brave  women  of  the  nation  rise 

And  fill  the  air  with  song. 

They  sing  of  the  Redeemer, 
And  with  a  faith  divine 

They  brave  the  stormy  elements 
And  form  in  battle  line. 

With  singing  and  with  prayers 
They  meet  Satanic  hosts 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.       • 

Though  slandered,  stoned,  imprisoned, 
Their  faith  is  never  lost. 

Wielding  no  carnal  weapons, 

Theirs  is  a  bloodless  fight, 
Yet  a  New  Age  and  better  day 

Is  ushered  into  light. 

In  patience,  never  weary 
With  power  before  unknown ; 

The  "  Spirit  Sword  "  they're  wielding, 
Wrong  will  be  overthrown. 

The  very  earth  is  startled, 
At  the  rays  of  light,  sublime, 

Which  are  lighting  up  the  glory, 
On  the  brow  of  coining  time. 

Deliverance,  lo!  it  cometh! 

'  Praver  is  never  breathed  in  vain — 
Kever  wasted — God  who  hears  it, 

Sends  in  answer  "  growth  and  gain.  " 

Pray  on,  "Daughters  of  Heaven!  " 

In  all  the  coming  time, 
The  echoing  arch  of  centuries, 

Shall  "  hold  your  lives  sublime.  " 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  167 


PALMYRA. 

"CiTY  OF  Palms!  "  alone,  alone 

Amid  the  arid  sand, 
Peopleless  wreck  of  ages  past, 

Thy  broken  columns  stand, 
Thy  haughty  pride  to  earth  is  crushed, 
Thy  crowded  marts  to  silence  hushed. 

The  wild  beast  of  the  desert  roams 

Through  sacred  halls    neath  ruined  domes; 
Silence  and  mystery  entomb 
Thy  fabled  courts,  thy  gardens'  bloom. 

O,  fallen  Queen!  O,  desert  Star! 

Thy  light  is  dimmed  and  gone, 
And  darkness  rests  o'er  Syrian  plains 

Where  once  thy  glory  shone. 
The  moaning  wind,  the  jackal's  cry, 
The  wandering  Arab  passing  by, 

The  palsied  pulse,  the  phantom  tread 

Are  signets  of  a  city  dead, 
A  mighty  tomb,  a  ghastly  sleep, 
A  wreck,  which  earth's  dim  records  keep. 

Dark  night  "  sits  brooding  o'er  decay,  " 

Girt  'round  by  voiceless  space, 
While  the  deep  mystery  of  death 

Enfolds  a  vanished  race. 
From  Roman  lips  the  mandate  came; 
The  sword  flashed  like  a  breath  of  flame; 


168  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Zenobia's  doom  and  thine  were  sealed, 
Upon  the  midnight  battle-field, 
And  the  proud  car  of  Roman  state, 
For  all  time  left  thee  desolate. 

Deserted  fane  and  battlement  I 
War-broken  shaft  and  tower! 
In  thee  we  see  earth's  littleness, 

The  end  of  pride  and  power. 
While  drifting  sands  entomb  their  prey, 
Hiding  from  man  they  slow  decay, 
Where  only  funeral  ivy  twines 
'Round  rifled  tombs  and  ruined  shrines; 
Life's  storied  pages  can  but  seem 
Pale  meteor  lights  on  Time's  swift  stream. 


FAITH. 

ARE  YOU  often  sad  and  weary? 
Do  life's  paths  seem  dark  and  dreary? 
Cease  all  sinning,  cease  all  grieving, 
Jesus  calls,  O,  come  believing! 

Mourner,  sad  and  broken  hearted, 
From  thy  loved  ones  art  thou  parted? 
Hark!  a  voice  to  thee  is  crying, 
"  Look  aloft,  "  and  cease  all  sighing. 

See,  the  heavy  cross  is  glorious, 
Since  the  bleeding  Lamb  victorious 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES.  169 

Conquered  death  and  sin  and  sorrow, 
Lifting  clouds  from  Death's  to-morrow. 

Have  you  faith?  then  never  falter, 
Lay  your  heart  upon  God's  altar, 
For  however  weary,  weeping, 
Jesus  holds  thee  in  His  keeping. 

Have  you  faith!   in  City  glorious, 
Christ  the  Loving's  gone  before  us, 
For  the  faithful,  pure  and  lowly, 
Builds  a  mansion  fair  and  holy. 

Faith's  the  password  into  Heaven, 
When  love  has  all  our  sins  forgiven, 
Where  beside  life's  glittering  river 
Faith  is  lost  in  sight  forever. 


HOME. 

You  TELL  me  the  little  cottage  stands 

'Neath  the  same  wide  spreading  trees; 
That  vines  o'er-clamber  the  rustic  porch, 

And  imprison  the  summer  breeze. 
No  longer  to  us  is  it  "  Home,  sweet  home;  " 

For  sunshine,  nor  fairest  flowers, 
Can  bring  to  our  hearts  the  love  and  hope, 

Or  joy,  of  the  vanished  hours. 


1 70  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Hours  which  memory  alone  holds  fast, 

Safe  from  unhallowed  hands, 
As  the  ocean  holds  her  purest  gems 

Enwrapped  in  her  silver  sands. 
On  mount  or  plain,  o'er  all  the  earth, 

Home  can  never  more  be  found ; 
Silent,  we  bow  our  heads  in  dust, 

And  in  tears  are  sorrow-crowned. 

Home!   'tis  alone  where  a  mother's  hands 

Shut  the  door  on  grief  and  tears, 
Where  the  mystic  gate  of  love  is  locked 

'Gainst  care  and  earth-born  fears. 
Alas!  a  grave  its  shadow  casts, 

Heavy  and  dark,  and  cold 
Across  the  hearth  where  hope  had  strewn 

Joy-buds  that  can  ne'er  unfold. 

Do  souls  straightway  forget  the  cross, 

As  they  gaze  on  the  glorified  One? 
Or  do  they  look  back  o'er  the  blood-tracked  path, 

And  watch  how  our  battles  are  won? 
Does  the  dazzling  light  of  eternal  dav 

From  their  gaze  shut  our  tear-stained  eyes? 
Do  the  songs  of  the  blessed  so  thrill  their  hearts 

That  they  hear  not  our  anguished  cries? 

If  the  pearly  gates,  by  angel  guards, 

For  a  moment  unclosed  might  be, 
Could  we  catch  the  song  our  loved  ones  sing 

To-dav  by  the  Jasper  sea, 
The  path  that  our  faltering  feet  must  tread, 

As  we're  "  passing  under  the  rod," 
Would  seem  less  drear  could  we  hear  the  songs 

They  sing  in  the  "  city  of  God." 


A  UTUMN  LEA  YES, 


LIFE'S  LESSON. 

THE  TINY  seed,  in  the  furrow  deep, 

Buried  in  darkness  and  wet  with  rain, 
Waking  to  life  from  its  silent  sleep, 
Holdeth  its  life-work  not  in  vain. 
And  not  in  vain  is  the  gloom  of  night, 
Since  from  out  the  darkness  springeth  the  light, 
Since  from  out  the  death-mold,  the  growing  corn 
So  glorified,  waiteth  the  harvest  morn. 

The  flower  that  blooms  in  the  forest  aisles, 

Afar  from  the  ken  of  human  sight, 
Looks  to  the  skies  and  lovingly  smiles, 

Upward  reaching  to  life  and  light; 
Glad  in  that  life,  since  the  Father  who  made, 
Shelters  her  there  in  the  mossy-green  glade. 
Ah!   not  in  vain,  since  He  willeth  it  so 
Do  the  shy  wild  flowers  in  their  beauty  grow. 

The  brook,  half  hidden  by  ferny  banks, 

Sings  gladsome  songs  of  sweet  content, 
And  the  stately  pines  in  serried  ranks, 
And  hardy  laurels,  gnarled  and  bent, 
Ne'er  murmur  when  storm-clouds  are  hov'ring  nigh, 
Or  tempests,  black-winged,  sweep  over  the  sky; 
But  with  upraised  arms,  they  evermore  pray: 
Give  us  strength,  dear  Lord,  for  the  darkest  day." 

The  endelwisse,  on  the  Alpine  height, 

Arnid  the  glaciers  lifts  its  face, 
Pure  as  a  dream,  in  the  glowing  light, 

Child  of  the  snowy  mountain  place; 


172  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

Alone  in  the  storm  she  veileth  her  eyes, 
Shy,  pale  and  sweet,  'neath  the  snow-laden  skies, 
Glad  since  the  Father  hath  made  her  so  fair, 
The  trials  he  sends  to  lovingly  bear. 

The  storm-cleft  rock  inhere  the  lichen  creeps, 

Growing  gray  in  the  march  of  time, 
Of  long  past  ages  a  record  keeps; 

Nations  may  fall,  yet  still,  sublime, 
Shall  the  age-worn  turrets  unshaken  stand, 
To  teach  us  the  power  of  the  Master's  hand; 
That  hand  oft  chastens,  yet,  afar,  through  the  gloom, 
On  the  dark  rough  rock,  see  the  roses  bloom. 

/   Then  garner  for  aye,  lessons  of  hope; 

Cling  to  your  faith  in  sorrow's  night; 
Trim  your  ship's  sails!  hold  fasr'to  the  ropel 

After  darkness  cometh  the  light. 
Learn  then  from  nature  that  no  life  is  vain, 
Though  shadowed  by  darkness,  sorrow  and  pain; 
This  lesson  is  taught,  with  each  passing  hour, 
That  strengthened  by  duty,  -weakness  is  power. 


A  UTUMN  LEA  VES*  173 


HERE  AND  HEREAFTER. 

O  'TIS  the  saddest  thing,  to  bear 

A  saddened  heart, 
To  know,  that  in  the  busy  world 

I  have  no  part; 

To  know  that  other  hands  must  sow, 

And  others  reap; 
To  know  that  I  can  never  climb 

The  mountain  steep; 

That  on  its  top  I  may  not  stand 

In  sunlight  free; 
That  only  barren,  storm-swept  heaths 

Remain  for  me. 

The  past  is  rife  with  haunting  dreams, 
Dreams  that  have  fled — - 

Spectres  dark  from  shadow-land, 
Hopes  that  are  dead. 


Ah!  'tis  the  gladdest  thing  to  know, 

While  here  I  weep, 
That  when  the  weary  day  is  d^one, 

Comes  rest  and  sleep; 

That  while  I  walk  life's  tangled  path 

With  bleeding  feet— 
Where  flowers  by  thorns  are  overgrown- 

'Mid  summer's  heat, 


174  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 

That  Beulah's  green  and  shady  groves 

Are  just  in  sight, 
Where  storms  and  darkness  may  not  come, 

And  all  is  light. 

The  passing  years  may  come  and  go, 

The  rains  may  fall — 
But  love,  that  only  wounds  to  heal, 

Is  over  all. 

The  clouds  may  darken  all  my  skiss, 

And  life  may  fail; 
But  only  light  and  love  are  found 

Beyond  the  veil. 


THE  OCEAN-DEAD. 

THE  OCEAN'S  restless,  never  ceasing  moan — 
The  music  of  the  "  ever  sounding  sea  " — 

A  mystic  song  to  all  the  ages  past, 
A  mystic  song  in  ages  yet  to  be. 

Ah!  do  they  sing  of  those  who  sweetlv  rest 

Amid  bright  shells  and  golden-gleaming  sands, 

Who  through  the  death-cold  waters,  dark  and  deep, 
Triumphant  passed  to  reach  the  glory-land? 

The  blue  waves  sweep  above  the  forms  of  kings; 

Right  royal  is  the  shroud  their  loom  er-weaves, 
Of  emeralds,  amber,  amethyst,  and  gold, 

In  hues  as  rare  as  autumn's  richest  leaves. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES.  175 

Youth  and  old  age  together  fell  asleep, 

All  dreamlessly,  upon  a  bed  of  pearls; 
Bright  gems  entwine  the  scattered  locks  of  gray, 

And  form  a  wreath  for  childhood's  silken  curls. 

Pearl-lighted  halls  beneath  the  crested  waves, 
Weary  earth-feet  may  never,  never  tread ; 

Nor  earthly  voice  e'er  break  the  silence  deep, 
Which  icily  enwraps  the  ocean-dead. 

The  saddest  soul  may  find  a  sweet  repose — 
A  painless  sleep,  within  the  ocean's  breast, 

Where  galling  chains,  which  wearily  are  worn, 
At  last  are  loosed,  leaving  an  endless  rest. 

Ah,  blessed  sleep!  sleep  of  the  ocean-dead! 

No  weary  earth-moan  wakes  their  last  repose; 
For  them  the  grand  memorfal  shall  be 

Chanted,  till  angel  hands  Time's  Book  shall  close. 


176  A  UTUMN  LEA  VES. 


AUTUMN  ALIS. 

Hopes  that  have  faded  away,  like  the  leaves, 

And  buds  of  promise  unblown, 
The  trailing  arbutus,  and  hemlock  and  rue, 

Have  been  woven  into  my  crown. 
Since  a  crown  of  thorns  the  Master  wore, 
Shall  I  grieve  that  roses  are  not  my  store? 

I  know  that  my  wreath  of  pale  "Autumn  Leaves," 

Is  faded,  withered  and  brown, 
But  humbly,  now,  at  the  foot  of  the  cross, 

I  will  lay  my  offering  down; 
Mayhap,  the  Master,  who  knoweth  all  pain, 
Will  whisper:  "  Your  toiling  is  not  in  vain." 


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